


Soldier Boy

by xxSparksxx



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a gambling scandal that rocked the monarchy of Corville, Joshua Poldark sends his rebellious son off to serve military duty, hoping to “straighten him out”. It’s while stationed in Cornwall that he meets Demelza. Demelza is working as a barmaid at her local pub and saving up for university. She has no idea that the handsome foreigner she flirts with every weekend is a Crown Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Soldier Boy  
> Rating: Teen  
> Beta’d by pinkfairy727 and goodgirlwhoshopeful, who tidied up errant commas and sorted out my repetitions.  
> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine. 
> 
> Summary: Based on an AU picspam made by princessofpoldark on tumblr (check it out: http://princessofpoldark.tumblr.com/post/123303558841/au-meme-poldark-modern-royalty-after-a-gambling )
> 
> This is the first of four parts - three chapters plus an epilogue. A new part will be posted daily.

“God, what a week,” said Paul Daniel, collapsing into a chair next to Ross. “I thought we were never getting through those manoeuvres.”

It was Saturday night, and for once Ross had managed to escape the base to enjoy some proper off-duty relaxation. It wasn’t something that happened often. In the three months he’d been here, stationed at the tiny base that Corville kept adjacent to the British Army base here in Cornwall, he could count the number of times he’d been allowed out, or wanted to go out, on one hand.

Oh, some of it was his own fault. His CO, Halse, was an overbearing, pompous arse of the kind Ross simply couldn’t stand, and his parentage didn’t save him when he mouthed off to senior officers. He’d picked up too many extra duties because of his inability to hold his tongue. Halse, no doubt, thought he was doing his country a favour, helping keep Ross Poldark on the straight and narrow, but Ross resented his attitude, and so far he’d found little incentive to hold his tongue when Halse was around.

But it had been a smart move on his father’s part, sending him into the army, he could admit that. Ross had got through basic and officer training without much trouble and then spent a few months attached to a base in the capital of Corville, but there was too much scandal in his own country, too much attention even a year later, and so he’d been sent off to England to cool his heels for a while. And here, even under Halse’s strict eye, he had somehow begun to enjoy the life of a soldier. Where most of his compatriots seemed to struggle with the discipline, at least at first, Ross had found a freedom here that he had never been allowed at home. Freed from the rules and constraints that had governed his whole life, Ross had less reason to rebel and found the conformity of the army made him feel more like an ordinary man, just another soldier. One of many, not one standing alone in front of a crowd. The army had its own rules, of course, but they applied to everyone. That made it easier for Ross to stomach.

He’d made friends, at any rate. Paul Daniel, serving a fixed rotation here before going back to his wife and children in Corville. Zacky Martin, a non-commissioned officer who saw right through any bullshit Ross tried to pull whenever memories, or a message from home, sent him spiralling backward – towards the sort of behaviour that had got him packed off into the army in the first place. Lastly was Dwight Enys, an army doctor, who had joined Ross and Paul on this evening out. He was probably the reason Ross had been allowed out in the first place – Dwight had a reputation for being sensible, and with both Dwight and Paul to accompany him in a quasi-official capacity, Ross had managed to get out of the base without a more overt security escort.

The whole thing was ridiculous anyway. Corville was tiny, and his father was popular. Nobody was likely to try to harm Ross – even if anybody here knew who he was, which he doubted. It was one of the greatest benefits of being out of his own country.

It was Dwight who had suggested this pub. It was a little out of their way, a twenty minute walk from the barracks, but he’d promised good food and a good local beer. Ross and Paul, weary from a week of joint manoeuvres with the British Army, hadn’t argued.

“First round’s on me,” said Ross, rather than joining Paul in complaining. “Beers for everyone?”

“Yeah, cheers,” said Paul. “And chips.”

“Chips for me too,” Dwight agreed. “Get that local brew I was telling you about.”

The pub was busy – Saturday night and a game on the television – but it didn’t take Ross long to work his way through the crowd to the bar. There was no barman there, but Ross guessed he wouldn’t be left unattended for long. He leaned against the bar and idly watched the game on the screen that hung on a bracket from the wall furthest from the bar. Football. Not his thing. His cousin loved it, but Ross had never quite seen the point. Rugby, now. Rugby was a game.

“Sorry for the wait,” said somebody, in a lilting Cornish accent. Ross turned, startled, to find a barmaid where he’d been unconsciously expecting a man. The woman behind the bar was tall, slender, with a crop of red hair tied back from her face and stunning green eyes. She barely seemed old enough to be working in a pub, but he couldn’t imagine that the landlord would let an underage girl work here. “What can I get you?” she asked him.

It took Ross a moment to answer. She wasn’t an incredible beauty the way Elizabeth was – not that he was thinking about Elizabeth these days, not at _all_ , because what was the point of coming all the way to England and still thinking about her? – but there was a certain attractiveness about her. Defined cheekbones, wide mouth. Something vivacious in her eyes. Something that, Ross suspected, often made men look twice at her.

“Three beers,” he managed at last. “What is it, the local, Grambler Finest?” He smiled at her, flirting an easy habit to fall into, though it had been a while since he had bothered. “And one for you, too.”

“Three Gramblers,” she said, and reached below the bar for glasses. “And none for me.” Her smile softened her refusal. “If I had a drink every time a bloke wants to buy me one, I’d be under the table before closing,” she teased. Ross laughed quietly and shook his head.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

“Oh, feel free to try,” the woman said, her eyes sparkling at him as she pulled pints easily, as if she’d been doing it all her life. She wasn’t graceful, not exactly, but she moved with an economy of movement. Her hands were slender, her fingers long. “You’re not local, with that accent,” she said after a moment. “Here on the base?”

“The Corville base,” Ross nodded. “Do I stick out that much?”

“Like a sore thumb,” she said, sliding the three pint glasses across the bar towards him. “You settling up now, or shall I put it on Dwight’s tab?” Surprised, Ross lifted an eyebrow in mute query. The barmaid grinned at him, warm and friendly. “He’s a regular in here,” she said. “He’ll be wanting his chips as well, I suppose?”

“Three lots of chips,” Ross confirmed, glancing over his shoulder at the table that he and his friends had commandeered. He was a dark horse, Dwight. Redheads were his type, too. “Come here often, does he?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested.

“Often enough.”

“I’m paying this round,” said Ross, recollecting her question. “How much?” He slid some notes across the bar to her while she scribbled a receipt. He wanted to ask her name but couldn’t decide how to ask that wouldn’t seem out of order. Her pointed comment about drinks made it clear that he was hardly the first bloke to come in here and flirt with her. Ross liked to think he didn’t bother women with attention when they clearly didn’t want it.

“Chips will be right up,” she said, giving him back a handful of coins in change. She turned and opened a hatch in the wall – the kitchen was beyond, blasting hot air and a delicious scent of fish and chips. “Jim! Three chips for table four.”

“Thanks, Demelza,” came a voice from within the kitchen, and Ross was triumphant. Demelza. That wasn’t a name he would have forgotten, if Dwight had ever mentioned it. It was too unusual. Demelza turned back to Ross with another warm smile.

“It won’t be long,” she said. “D’you need a hand with the drinks?”

“I’ll manage,” said Ross. “Demelza – interesting name.”

Her smile dimmed a little. “Old Cornish name,” she said. “Runs in the family.”

“It’s pretty.”

“If you say so,” said Demelza. In a moment her smile returned, her glance at him a little flirtatious now. “And what’s the name of this soldier boy wanting to buy me a drink?” she asked.

“Ross Vennor,” said Ross, giving his mother’s name as a matter of course. He was known as Lieutenant Poldark in the army, but when he was out and about, and not on official business, it was easier to go by his mother’s less-known surname. Poldark was hardly as famous as Windsor, but he didn’t like taking chances.

“Ross,” said Demelza, seeming to roll the word around her mouth. “Alright then, soldier boy. Call out if you need anything. I’m on shift all evening.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest one or two things that he might need, over the course of the evening, but he checked himself. The army had knocked some rough corners off him already; it wouldn’t do to replace those with any bad habits. There was a certain level of bawdy talk in an army barracks, and Ross didn’t mind sharing in it when he was there, but he didn’t want to allow it into the rest of his life.

“Let me know if you change your mind about that drink,” he said instead, gathering the three pint glasses together.

“Oh, you’ll be the first to know,” she teased him, and turned to her next customer.

There was a tip jar on the bar with her name on it – ‘Demelza’s university fund’, it said, written in black marker on a piece of masking tape stuck to the jar. That confirmed his suspicion about how young she was – probably only eighteen or nineteen. She certainly couldn’t be older than twenty. There were some coins in the jar, mostly coppers, with a few fifty pence pieces and the odd pound coin. There was a ragged five pound note in there too, but no other notes. Ross dropped his handful of change into it, and made a mental note to add some more before he left.

* * *

“Hey, Demelza, look – someone’s stuck a whole load of notes in your jar.”

Demelza put the last few glasses into the dishwasher and then went back out to the bar, where Jim was lounging on a bar stool eating leftover salad and chips. Her tip jar – her university fund, as Jim had labelled it – was where it should be, on the bar beside the till. She put it out every shift, and put it away again before she left. The pub owner, Phil Henshawe, had been all encouragement when she’d asked if he’d mind it. He liked a person who was willing to work for what they wanted, he’d said. Well, that was Demelza. She had a lot of money still to earn if she stood even a hope of being able to afford to live when she took up her place at university next autumn. She was working all the hours she could, but even so, it was going to be tough. She only kept her earnings from the pub – the pay she got for her weekday jobs went into the household. She didn’t grudge it, not when it kept Sam in his apprenticeship and made sure Drake had a full uniform for his first year at secondary school, but she needed to save every penny she could, and the tip jar helped more than she had expected when she’d first put it out on the bar.

Jim was right. In the jar, rarely more than half full and scarcely ever with paper money in it, was a folded wad of notes. She unscrewed the top of the jar and counted them. A hundred pounds, in tens and twenties.

Jim whistled slowly. “Bloody hell,” he said. “Somebody likes you, eh?”

Demelza thought back over the evening. There’d been a crowd of regulars, none of whom ever tipped more than five quid, not unless they were roaring drunk. Their side had won the game, so there’d been no drowning of sorrows tonight. A few new people. Tourists, some of them, or people in town on business.

And – and the soldiers from the base. Ross Vennor, with his dark eyes and that utterly gorgeous smile.

He’d flirted with her all evening. Nothing harmful, nothing out of order. She’d flirted back. It was a long time since she’d felt like anybody looked at her with anything like attraction. She’d had no time for boyfriends, not since her mother had died. There had been a few flirtations, a few boyfriends for brief periods, but she’d been too busy for anything more. Studying had been too important, and taking care of her brothers.

“Them soldiers, they just left, yeah?” she asked Jim, and he nodded. Demelza grabbed her coat and bag, stuffing the notes into a coat pocket. “Do me a favour and lock up?” she asked. “I’ve done everything else, just set the alarm and lock the front door. Mr Henshawe’ll come down at half past to check everything.”

“No problem,” Jim said, and Demelza hurried out of the pub, hoping to catch up with the three soldiers before they got too far.

Luck was on her side tonight. The soldiers had barely made it to the end of the street, idling away from the pub. They’d only left a couple of minutes before, when Demelza had thrown them out with a laugh at their antics. Dwight was a regular, and she knew him well by now. Paul and Ross were new, but both friendly, and they’d behaved well. They’d kept their hands to themselves, something not everybody did, particularly if they arrived at eight and stayed until closing, drinking and eating and generally having a good time. Some blokes got a bit handsy, at the end of an evening like that, but not these three.

“Hey – hey, soldier boy!” she called out, picking up speed to catch up with them. Ahead of her, under the streetlight at the corner, the three men stopped and Ross said something to his friends that made them laugh. Then Ross turned and came back down the street towards her, greeting her with a smile that really ought to be illegal, she thought ruefully.

“Ah, the lovely Demelza,” he said. “Chasing after me already?”

Demelza refused to be charmed. Flirting was one thing, but a hundred pound tip was quite another. He had a lovely smile, gorgeous eyes, and a body to kill for – but she wasn’t for sale, not for him, nor anyone else. Hundred pound tips made it look like he thought otherwise. She held out the folded wad of notes.

“Here,” she said. “You left this.”

Ross lifted an eyebrow. “Yes,” he said. “In the tip jar. For you. Quite deliberately, I assure you.”

“It’s a hundred quid!” Demelza protested. “No way you’re leaving a tip for a hundred quid, I know what you lot make – and if you think you’re buying something else with it, you can think again.”

Something in his face hardened, and Demelza almost wanted to take a step away from him. But the street was well lit, and there were still plenty of people milling about – and besides, her keys were in her right hand, hidden in her coat pocket. If he tried anything, she was prepared. She knew how to avoid a blow, anyway.

“I’ve never needed to pay for sex,” he said, sounding utterly offended. “It was just a tip, for God’s sake.”

“A hundred quid tip? Pull the other one. Look, here, take it.” She shoved the money at him, but he put his hands behind his back and refused to take it.

“The jar said university fund,” he said, all innocence now. “Wasn’t that true?”

“I – yeah, it is,” said Demelza, faltering. “But look – this is too much, I know what you boys at the base earn.” Not much – not at his rank, anyway. Though he was one of the Corville lot. Maybe they paid better than the British Army.

“Better in your jar than my pocket,” said Ross with a shrug. “I won’t take it back, so you might as well keep it.” He smiled again, that gorgeous smile that had taken her breath away, earlier this evening, when she’d first seen it first in the pub. The smile that had lead her to flirt gently with him all evening, whenever he’d come up to the bar for another round for him and his mates. God, but a girl would do a lot for that smile. He probably had girls falling all over him, too – girls more sophisticated than her, she thought with more than a little envy.

“Look,” Ross said after a moment, “I live on base. My food and clothes are paid for. I don’t have a family to support. I’d rather give the money to a good cause than let it sit doing nothing.”

“And I’m a good cause, am I?” Demelza asked, trying to hold on to her ire.

“I think so.”

Demelza pursed her lips and shook her head. “You’re not used to people saying no to you, are you?” she said dryly, not really expecting an answer. Ross said nothing, but smiled wider. Demelza put the notes into her coat pocket and tried not to smile in return. “Fine,” she said. “Just this once, mind. Stick to a fiver next time, yeah?”

“If you say so,” Ross agreed. “Next weekend, then? Maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink, too.”

Demelza laughed. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

“Not usually,” he said. He looked like it, too. There was a stubborn look about him, something about the set of his jaw. Demelza was no stranger to stubbornness. She shook her head again, amused despite herself.

“I’m on Friday nights and all weekend,” she told him, though it was probably a bad idea. He didn’t strike her as a creep, though, even if he _had_ left her the kind of tip that made alarm bells ring. She believed him when he claimed he’d just wanted to tip her, and really, any of the regulars would be able to tell him when she worked. Dwight certainly could; he’d been coming to the pub since just after Demelza had started there, the day she’d turned eighteen. Over a year ago, now. “So, yeah,” she said. “If you come here again, you’ll see me.”

“Next Saturday, then,” Ross said. He turned to go back to his friends, and then paused. “Do you live far?” he asked. “You shouldn’t walk home alone at this time of night.”

“And if it were any of your business, I’d tell you,” Demelza said, more amused than angry. “I’m a big girl, soldier boy. I can take care of myself.” Ross didn’t seem convinced. The Corville soldiers were often like that, worried about her safety in the big bad town. Crime rates weren’t great here, though they weren’t bad either – but from what little she knew, Corville had almost no crime at all. It was sweet, really, when they discovered she walked home at night. “I don’t walk alone,” she said in concession to his frown.

“Demelza!” came a familiar call. “ You’re early – or am I late?”

“I’m early,” said Demelza, turning automatically towards her brother’s voice. Luke finished at his job ten minutes before she did, and he always came to walk her home. He had started it back when she’d begun working at the pub, and he’d come every night she worked there without fail. She loved him for it; this was his way of trying to show his support for her goals. “Good day?” she asked him.

“Not so bad,” Luke said agreeably. “Let me take your bag.” He took it from her and offered a polite smile to Ross. “Hi,” he said. Ross nodded, but didn’t speak. All his smiles had gone now. He looked serious, and perhaps a little disappointed.

“This is Ross,” Demelza introduced, when neither man seemed willing to move on without one. “Ross, this is Luke.”

“Your boyfriend?” Ross asked, a slight edge to his voice. Demelza rolled her eyes and linked her arm to Luke’s.

“My brother,” she said. “Luke walks me home every night, so there’s no need for you to come charging to my rescue, soldier boy.”

“God help the man who tried,” Luke muttered, and Demelza jabbed her elbow into him. He made a face at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him. An old argument. When she glanced at Ross, he seemed to have relaxed again. “Come on, Demelza, we’d better get back,” Luke said then.

“Yep. See you next week then, soldier boy,” Demelza said in farewell.

“Next Saturday,” Ross agreed. Demelza fancied she could feel him watching her as she and Luke walked away, but she told herself that was just wishful thinking.

“New punter?” Luke asked her, jostling against her slightly. “Good tipper?”

“Very,” said Demelza, but she didn’t mention the hundred pounds in her pocket.

* * *

Ross went back to the pub the next Saturday.

He told himself it was the atmosphere. The food. The local beer, which really was very good. He absolutely was not going back because of a tall, skinny redhead with laughing eyes. It was just a better pub than the ones closer to the base, and because fewer soldiers came here, there was no way Ross could get involved in any scrapes.

That was what he told himself, and he could even pretend to believe it, at least for the first few visits.

The first Saturday he went with Dwight again, for a meal and a pint. Demelza was there, as she’d promised, laughing and flirting and looking rather adorable with her hair in two plaits. He offered to buy her a drink, she refused, so he put the price of a beer into her tip jar. He and Dwight left well before closing, just as the pub was beginning to get crowded, and there was no chance of doing more than waving goodbye to Demelza.

The next week he went on Sunday for lunch, with Zacky Martin. It was quieter in the pub at lunchtime, and Demelza sat behind the bar with a heavy textbook open in front of her. She seemed pleased to see him, and Ross pretended that he didn’t see the way Zacky looked from Demelza to Ross and then back again with amusement. They ate their meal and paid, and Ross left another tip in the jar, when Demelza wasn’t looking. A five pound note, just like she’d said.

“Isn’t falling in love what got you in trouble in the first place?” Zacky asked him, as they walked back to the base. Ross grimaced and shrugged.

“Some would say that,” he said. “But I’m not falling in love. I hardly know her. She’s nice, that’s all, and I like the pub.”

Zacky didn’t believe him, but Ross didn’t mind that. The problem was that he wasn’t really sure how much he believed himself. He _wasn’t_ falling in love. He’d only had a handful of conversations with Demelza, and he was painfully aware that she was friendly and chatty to everyone who went to the pub. She didn’t flirt with all of them, true, but even so it was her job to be friendly, and he didn’t want to mistake that for anything else.

But those eyes, and that smile, just kept drawing him back in. She was funny, and full of energy, and clever. It was fascinating, the vivacity of her, the way she seemed to hold a secret in the twinkling of her eyes and the curve of her lips when she laughed. Even from the brief conversations they had already had, Ross wanted to know more about her.

No, Ross wasn’t fool enough to think himself in love. But he liked her, and God, he was attracted to her. There was no harm in flirting. No harm in, perhaps, asking her out one weekend.

He couldn’t get off base the following weekend, stuck with a pile of books that he had to read and understand if he was to ever have a hope of passing the tests for promotion, but the weekend after that he managed to be off-duty and to escape without escort. Ross reached the pub at about half four on Saturday afternoon, expecting to find it full of the football crowd, but the pub was oddly quiet when he took a seat on a bar stool. The television at the other side of the pub, sound muted, provided the answer: the local team were playing at home. No doubt most of the football-watching regulars had managed to get tickets.

Demelza came out of the kitchen after a moment, with a stressed look that disappeared when she saw him.

“Hello again, soldier boy,” she greeted. “I thought you’d lost us. You started coming so regular, then last weekend you disappeared.”

“Did you miss me?” Ross asked, and grinned when she rolled her eyes at him.

“Like a hole in the head,” she said teasingly. “So what’ll it be, soldier boy?”

“Just a coke for now.” Ross watched as she busied herself behind the bar, and then leaned over a little to peer at her textbook, closed this time but bristling with post-it notes. “Law,” he noted. “You’re going to study law at university?”

“Yup.” Demelza’s smile was dazzling now as she passed his drink to him. “I’ve got a place at Exeter for next September,” she said. “Deferred entry. But I’m working through the textbooks now, so I don’t let my brains get slack while I save up for living costs.”

“Can’t your family help?” Ross asked, keen to know more about her. So far all he knew about her was that she had a brother called Luke, and that she was determined to get herself to university. Not enough to fall in love with. Not that he was falling in love, obviously.

Demelza’s smile disappeared, her mouth twisting into a frown. “No,” she said shortly, and told him how much his drink was. Ross counted coins out of his wallet and then, when she reached to take them, he caught her hand in his for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Demelza looked down at their joined hands and then she took her hand from his and smiled again. But it was a tight smile, not the wide, happy expression that he’d already begun to treasure.

“No worries,” she said. “It’s just my dad at home – my mum died six years ago – and there’s seven of us kids.”

“Seven!”

“Oh, I know.” She pulled a face, and he found himself entranced by it. “Six brothers, all younger’n me,” she added. “My mum was a devout Catholic, and my father followed along. So now there’s not a lot of money to go around. I’ll get student loans, of course, but I want to avoid an overdraft.” She paused. “What about you, soldier boy? Any brothers or sisters?” She took a step away from him, leaning against the wall on the other side of the bar. Her hands went into the pockets of her trousers. Ross tried not to look at the shape of her hips.

“I had a brother,” he said. “He died when he was six.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! God, your poor parents!”

Ross shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Harder for my parents than me.”

There was a bruise on Demelza’s forearm; he could see it now because her sleeve had ridden up her arm a little. Ross frowned at it, and when Demelza saw where he was looking, she tugged her sleeve back down. Ross said nothing. The bruise could have come from anything, and if he asked about it, she’d likely tell him to mind his own business.

“Don’t they mind you being so far away?” she asked him then. Defence mechanism, he thought. Distract and divert. He knew it well.

“My mother’s dead now. It was my father’s idea that I join the army,” he said, which was true enough. Though it had been more of an order than a suggestion, and it had followed a six month rollercoaster of drinking and gambling that had threatened to plunge the whole family into scandal. Damn Francis, anyway. Damn Elizabeth. If only –

“Ah,” said Demelza, affecting a wise air. “One of _those_. Army life to put you back on track?”

“It’s possible,” Ross allowed, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth at the worldly air she put on.

“Wild one, are you?”

“Not so much these days.”

“Ha! That’s what they all say,” Demelza said, with a wide smile. “Well, we’ll see, soldier boy. Just don’t go wild in here on a Saturday night and get into trouble on my shift, yeah?” Somebody signalled from the other end of the bar, and she went to do her job, leaving Ross to sip his drink and wonder how to go about asking her out. The trouble was, he thought, that he couldn’t get off-base during the week. And if she worked all weekends, there’d be no time. If she said yes in the first place, of course. It was an absurd idea anyway, he told himself. She hardly knew him. There was no reason in the world for her to agree to go out with him.

But, though Ross was many things, he was not a coward. So when she came back to his end of the bar, he took a chance. He gambled, like the gambler he was.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to go for a drink sometime?” he asked, with no confidence that she’d agree. “I don’t mean just here,” he added, when she hesitated. “I mean…like…”

“What, like a date?”

“Yes,” he said. “A date.”

Demelza pursed her lips and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I don’t have a lot of free time…”

“Right, yes, of course.” Ross finished his coke in one gulp and almost slammed the glass back onto the bar. Stupid idea anyway, he thought grimly, pretending he wasn’t disappointed. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No, wait –,” Demelza reached out and grasped his arm before he could do more than half-rise from his stool. “I’m not saying no,” she said. “Just not sure when, that’s all. And – and I don’t drink alcohol.”

“You work in a pub and you don’t drink?” Ross couldn’t help chuckling, from amusement and relief, but he could see Demelza was serious. “Why not?” he asked. “Is it religious, or…”

“I just don’t,” said Demelza, with a finality that suggested she wouldn’t answer any more questions on the subject. Ross glanced at her wrist again and began to connect the dots. Mother dead. Father at home with seven children. Bruise on her lower arm. Working all weekend. Refusing alcohol. He didn’t like the picture he found, but he could easily be wrong. No sense in jumping to conclusions, he reminded himself.

“Look, let me give you my number,” he said, fumbling in his jacket for a pen. Demelza found one for him from beside the till, and gave him a coaster to write on. Ross scrawled the numbers and remembered, just in time, to put Ross Vennor rather than Ross Poldark. “Give me a ring some time,” he suggested. “I’ll come back next Saturday, anyway. I mean it – I’d like to take you out one night, but it’s your decision.”

“Well, I should say so,” said Demelza, lifting an eyebrow. “Since I’m the one with your number. Now, are you going to order anything else? Only my boss is in the office and he doesn’t like people sitting without buying. I don’t think you flirting with me is going to change his mind.”

Ross shrugged. “Another coke,” he said. “And maybe a pasty? Are the pasties good here?”

“Soldier boy, everything’s good here,” Demelza said. It sounded like a promise.

* * *

Demelza didn’t call him.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to – because she did, more than she liked to admit. She wanted to call him, to hear his voice during the week, to tease him and be teased back. She liked the idea of going on a date with him. She didn’t know him well, but that was what dates were for. To get to know the other person. At least to begin with. She could manage some spare time somehow, maybe take a night off from the pub just for once. She’d lose the earnings, but one night wouldn’t do much harm, especially with that insane tip he’d left on his first visit.

But it was a hellish week.

First the electricity was turned off, thanks to her father not remembering to pay the bill on time, and then one of Demelza’s cleaning jobs came to an end, because the old lady died – peacefully, in her sleep, but still dead, and Demelza would miss her, but she’d miss the money too. Then, just to add the crowning glory to her week, Drake and Robbie, the two youngest Carne boys, both managed to get into trouble at school, and though the head was happy to talk to Demelza about it, now that she was an adult, it still meant an extra trip to the school – and their father inevitably found out about it, which was in nobody’s best interest.

There was a screaming row that night. Tom Carne drunk even though he had work the next day, Drake and Robbie in tears huddled in a corner, Demelza trying to draw his anger towards her. Luke and Sam were out. Luke helped her when he could – he and Sam were big enough now that their father thought twice about going for them – but they were both old enough to come and go as they pleased, and this time Demelza was alone. John had made himself scarce the moment their father had got home, smart lad, and Will – well, Will was hardly home, these days. Best thing all around, though Demelza missed him something terrible.

So Saturday rolled around and Demelza helped Mr Henshawe open up the pub. He knew her well, after over a year working for him, and so he didn’t object when first John and then Drake crept into the pub at lunchtime and found themselves a table close by the kitchen. They sat quietly enough, both doing their homework, and when lunch service was nearly over, Mr Henshawe brought them both out a plate of leftovers.

“It’d go in the bin otherwise,” he said when Demelza tried to protest. “You go on and take your break. I’ll keep an eye on your brothers.”

Not looking where she was going, she ran into Ross just outside the pub. He caught her by one elbow and gave her a scolding look.

“Did you want to get run over?” he asked her. “Or am I invisible?”

It was strange how much her day could be brightened by the sight of somebody she hardly knew. Demelza wished she’d managed to call him; maybe her week wouldn’t have been so unbearable if she’d heard a little of his flirting at some point.

“I doubt you could be invisible even if you tried,” she said, and was rewarded with one of the smiles that Demelza still thought should be illegal. Then she noticed what he was holding. “Did you…did you bring me flowers?” she asked, not quite sure if she believed what she was seeing.

“I may have done,” Ross said, watching her closely, as if he was worried about her reaction. “And – hold on…” He juggled the flowers from one hand to the other and brandished a small paper bag from the patisserie in town. “Cake,” he said triumphantly. “I figured chocolate was a good choice.” He smiled at her, bright and hopeful and Demelza rather thought she could live with that smile for a long time.

“Nobody’s ever got me flowers before,” she admitted, accepting the paper-wrapped bunch of flowers. Not roses, thank God – that would have been too much. Carnations. Safe enough. And chocolate cake. She had never – nobody had _ever_ brought her anything like this. The few boys she’d been out with, back in school, had never given her anything except a condom. Maybe a bar of chocolate on her birthday, but that was it. This was unexpected.

“Well, their mistake,” said Ross. “Do you like them?”

“I do.” Demelza buried her nose in the blooms and hid her smile behind the petals.

“You’re not leaving early, are you?” he asked her then. “I was coming to see you – I mean, I was coming for a drink, and –,”

“Late lunch,” Demelza said, rescuing him before he could begin to flounder more than he already was. “I was just going down to the park. Do you – do you want to come with me?”

“Sure,” Ross said, his casual tone belied by the warmth of his smile. “Do you want to put those in water first, though?”

Demelza disappeared back into the pub only for long enough to ask Mr Henshawe to stick them in a glass of water for her – ignoring John and Drake when they clamoured to know where the flowers had come from – and then she rejoined Ross on the street outside. Ross held out his arm for her and, charmed, Demelza took it.

“Proper gent, you are,” she teased him. “You Corville lot are all the same. Be careful, you’ll have all the girls round here chasing after you.”

“Just as well I’m not interested in being chased after,” said Ross. He sounded cheerful, but there was something bleak in his expression that made Demelza think she should steer clear of that topic.

“No,” she said lightly, “you’re the one doing the chasing, eh? Honestly, Ross, you’ve seen me…what, four times? You hardly know me. What makes you so set on going on a date?” Demelza was not usually insecure. She was confident in herself and her abilities, she was confident that she could look after her brothers and keep them from the worst of their father’s temper. She was confident in her determination to get to uni and do well. But she hadn’t had many blokes interested in her for more than her looks, and surely that was all Ross could want, when they’d hardly had more than three conversations?

Ross opened his mouth as if to speak, but then he exhaled and seemed to change his mind about what to say.

“Eighteen months ago, my girlfriend dumped me for my cousin,” he said. “It’s taken me a while to get over it.”

Demelza said nothing. Army, she thought. Wild boy. Bad break-up, plus rebellious streak, equalled son shoved off into the army. Did he still love her, she wondered. Though he hadn’t said love, only ‘girlfriend’…but if he hadn’t loved her, then it wouldn’t have taken him so long to recover. “Eighteen months and I’ve not looked at a woman twice,” Ross went on. “Until –,”

“Until you walked into my pub and I swept you off your feet?” Demelza was torn between being pleased at his honesty and being disappointed that he was so clearly on a rebound. “Pull the other one,” she added. “It’s got bells on it.”

“Yes, alright,” said Ross, rolling his eyes. “I’m not entirely incapable of understanding that this probably seems insane to you.”

“It does,” Demelza said helpfully.

“I like you,” Ross said. He stopped walking, so Demelza had to stop too. “Demelza, I like what I’ve seen of you so far,” he said, turning his head to look straight at her. She was barely an inch shorter than him; she liked that, liked feeling like his equal. “I’d like to learn more,” he went on. “And yes, it would be stupid of me to deny that you’re a pretty girl and I’ve not been able to get your smile out of my head for weeks.”

Demelza’s cheeks grew hot. “Shut up,” she muttered, utterly embarrassed, and prepared to deny until her dying breath that she’d been haunted by his smile too. “The park’s just there,” she said, trying to move past the awkward conversation. “Come on, I only get half an hour.”

“Demelza –,”

“Look, Ross,” said Demelza, jostling him into motion, “I fancy you too. But let’s start simple, yeah? Sit and watch me eat lunch and we can just talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything,” said Demelza. “What were you doing before you got shoved into the army? What’s your favourite flavour of ice cream? Just anything, really.”

“Ah, I see,” Ross murmured. “May I start?” They had entered the park now, and Demelza guided him towards her favourite bench. It was a cold day to be sitting outside, but Demelza came here for her lunch breaks on all but the very coldest of days. She liked this park; she had dim memories of being brought here by her mother.

“Sure,” she said magnanimously, unwrapping her sandwiches.

“Why law?” he asked, and he looked genuinely interested in the answer. It was rare that anybody was interested in hearing about her plans, these days – everybody who knew her already knew all about it. Her brothers generally started moaning and groaning if she ever talked about it at home. They supported her, but none of them were particularly interested in the why of her goals.

“I want to help people,” she said. “I want to make the world more equal.”

“I didn’t think lawyers generally did an awful lot of helping people,” Ross said teasingly. That started her off, and it was a good five minutes before she managed to shut herself up. She was over-enthusiastic sometimes, but he _had_ asked, and now he looked thoughtful, as if what she’d said had hit home somehow. He stared off across the park towards the climbing frame while Demelza set to work on her sandwich.

“I’m expected to go into the family business,” he said after a while. “It’s…I’d be in a position to change things, if I do. There’s a lot of poverty in Corville. People don’t like to talk about it – we live on mining and tourism, mostly, and if the poverty was exposed, tourists might not come – but it’s there.” He sighed and glanced at her, as if to see if she was listening. “If I do what’s expected, if I go into my father’s business – I could change things. I could make things better.” He smiled at her, soft and intimate. “Like you said, making the world more equal.”

“So what’s stopping you?” she asked, finishing her sandwich. “If you’d be in a position to help, what’s stopping you?”

“All my life I’ve been told to walk down one path,” Ross said, gesturing with one hand. “Nobody’s ever cared if I wanted to do anything else, or be anything else.”

“Must be hard,” Demelza murmured. Ross shrugged one shoulder but said nothing. “Well,” Demelza said, wiping crumbs from her mouth, “you’re a free man, Ross Vennor, and a stubborn one from what I’ve seen. I wouldn’t have thought anybody could make you do something you didn’t want to do.” She stood up and put her rubbish into the bin beside the bench. “Come on,” she said. “I’ve got to get back. Walk me back to the pub?”

He offered her his arm again, and they walked leisurely back across the park and up the street towards the pub. They paused just outside, and Demelza disentangled herself from him.

“This was nice,” she said. “I – we should do this again some time.”

“I can’t get away until next Sunday,” Ross said with a grimace. “But call me? Or text?”

“I will,” Demelza nodded, almost a promise. She took a breath and grasped hold of every scrap of confidence she had. “See you next Sunday, soldier boy,” she said, and lifted herself up the inch required to brush her lips against his. Then, before she could see his reaction, she hurried into the pub and back to work.

* * *

From: Unknown  
To: Ross Vennor  
15/10/2015 17:23  
_Hello soldier boy. Just wanted to let you have my number. I had a good time on Saturday. x Demelza Carne._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
15/10/2015 17:38  
_Demelza! :D How’s your week going so far?_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
15/10/2015 17:54  
_Life as normal, living with 6 men! Flooded toilet this morning, beans on toast for dinner tonight cos Sam can’t cook. You?_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
15/10/2015 17:58  
_Which one’s Sam? And aren’t there 7 men, plus you?_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
15/10/2015 18:49  
_Sam is 2nd. Luke first, then Sam, Will, John, Robbie and Drake. Will mostly lives with his friends, so 6 men in the household most of the time. 5 brothers + dad._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
15/10/2015 18:54  
_Sounds crowded. My week is also normal, but looking forward to seeing some pretty Cornish girl I know on Sunday._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
15/10/2015 19:01  
_Flattery gets you nowhere, soldier boy. See you on Sunday._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
15/10/2015 19:06  
_Cancel flattery. Yes ma’am x_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
15/10/2015 19:14  
_You like getting the last word, don’t you?_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/10/2015 19:19  
_Don’t worry, the army is doing its best to break me of the habit._

* * *

Ross couldn’t get out alone for the next few weeks. Halse seemed to have realised that Ross had been going off base alone, and he hauled Ross over the coals for being so careless of his safety, and then assigned Ross a _guard_ for a month, on-base as well as off-base. If it was intended to teach Ross a lesson, it didn’t work; Ross felt more and more restricted with each day, and more than once Zacky Martin took Ross aside and gave him a shake, both verbally and physically.

Seeing Demelza at the weekends helped, surprisingly enough. He didn’t, of course, tell her that the wiry man who came with Ross was there as a bodyguard. Will Nanfan was an acquaintance, he said – not entirely a lie – and Nanfan had taken one look at Demelza and then discreetly lodged himself into a corner of the pub, nursing half a pint and reading a newspaper.

“Quiet one, is he?” Demelza asked, lifting an eyebrow when Ross came to prop up the bar. “I dunno if I see the point of coming to a pub with mates and then ignoring them.”

“Major Halse seems to think I’m too wild to be let out alone,” said Ross, shrugging. It was the truth, more or less. Demelza got him a coke and a portion of chips without needing to be asked, and he smiled at her. “Am I getting predictable?” he asked.

“You’ve been in here…what, seven or eight times?” Demelza said tartly, “and you’ve ordered the same thing every time, unless it’s an evening. Then it’s Gramblers.”

“Do you remember everybody’s orders?”

“Only special customers,” she said, her eyes sparkling at him, her smile wide. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in the pub, the kind of afternoon that Ross liked, because it meant he and Demelza could chat while she worked. Getting to know each other. Finding out about Demelza’s sweet tooth, her love of baking, when her birthday was and that she hated Christmas. Even on the busier days he learned things, like the way she put her hands on her hips and yelled like an army sergeant if anybody in the pub began to cause trouble.

She listened when he talked, too. She asked astute questions, despite her continuing – purposeful, on his part – ignorance of the truth of Ross’s family and background. Trying to explain his father to Demelza, Ross gained a greater understanding of the relationship. Demelza was sympathetic, but only up to a point. She had a common sense approach that Ross lacked, at least when it came to his family and his responsibilities. It was refreshing, and he valued it.

“You look tired,” Demelza said, stealing one of his chips. “Up all night partying at the barracks, soldier boy?”

“Night drills,” Ross sighed. “Not quite as much fun.” Demelza made a face and stole another chip. “You know,” said Ross, “I’m fairly sure that there are more chips in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not about to waste my wages on chips when I can just have yours,” Demelza said airily. Ross couldn’t help a chuckle. Demelza offered him the next chip, and Ross pushed his luck and took hold of her hand, bringing her close so he could eat the chip straight from her fingers. Demelza held his gaze, even when he licked grease from her fingertips. There was a faint flush on her cheeks, normally so pale. But she didn’t object.

“Oh, eww,” said somebody from the kitchen door. Ross glanced across and then looked back at Demelza before taking a second look at the boy standing in the doorway, rucksack hanging from one shoulder and a dirty mark on his chin. The boy was so like Demelza that it was almost like seeing what Demelza must have been like as a child. The same red hair, the same wide mouth and green eyes. Short, though he was clearly still too young to have hit a proper growth spurt. His voice was high and unbroken.

“Oh shut up,” said Demelza, not without some fondness. “What are you doing here, Drake?” The youngest brother, then. The youngest sibling of seven. Ross couldn’t imagine having so many siblings; he could remember his younger brother – the heir and the spare, Aunt Agatha had always said – but that had been a long time ago, and though he’d always been close to his cousins, it wasn’t the same thing.

“I need the internet for my homework but John wouldn’t get off the computer,” Drake explained. “Can I stay here and use your phone instead?”

“What homework?”

“History,” said Drake. Demelza sighed and nodded, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. Drake took it, but stood looking at Ross for a few moments longer. “Are you the guy that bought her flowers?” he demanded eventually.

“Yes,” said Ross, glancing at Demelza. She had suddenly seemed to become very busy behind the bar, beginning to put away a tray of glasses that she’d brought through from the kitchen earlier.

“Are you her boyfriend, then?” Drake asked.

“I – well –,” Ross wasn’t entirely certain what to answer. He knew what he wanted. He knew how he thought about Demelza in his head. But they hadn’t really gone out – apart from to the park on her lunch break, and that only the once. Then there was Demelza’s opinion on the matter. If there was one thing he had learned about her so far, it was that he couldn’t guess what she might say to any particular idea or suggestion.

“Yes, he is,” Demelza said unexpectedly. Ross choked on nothing, and she looked at him sidelong, her lips twisted in the particular way that meant she was trying not to smile. “That alright, Drake?”

Drake seemed to think about this. “I suppose so,” he said at last. “But don’t do gross stuff in front of me.” With that, he went back into the kitchen, Demelza’s phone clutched in his hand.

“Gross stuff,” Ross repeated after a moment.

“He’s eleven,” said Demelza, shrugging.

Ross wondered whether he should say something about what she’d said, but decided against it when he saw the trace of anxiety that she couldn’t quite hide as she went back to putting away glasses. He ate a few chips. At last she came to stand across the bar from him, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

“That alright?” she asked him. “I mean, I know it’s only a few weeks, but…”

“Demelza,” Ross said softly. He reached out, across the bar, and touched her lips with his forefinger. God, he wanted to kiss her. But not now. The pub was quiet, but they were hardly alone. He was very aware of Will Nanfan, unobtrusive in his corner but no doubt seeing everything that was going on. No, not now. Later. “It’s good,” he told her. “Though at some point you really have to let me take you out on a proper date.”

“What, the pub not good enough?” she teased him, though it seemed a little forced. “We’ll see, soldier boy.”

She had to go to serve another customer then, and then another few customers trickled into the pub. Ross sat quietly at the bar, picking at his chips, watching her – his girlfriend, and wouldn’t _that_ news spread around the base like wildfire when they got back? – and thinking vaguely about how he might be convincing enough to persuade Halse to let him off base on a week night, when Demelza didn’t work at the pub and therefore might be more able to go on a date with him. He wasn’t optimistic. Halse would want to know why, and then he’d want to know more about Demelza, and probably he’d feel it his duty to report higher up that Ross Poldark had a girlfriend. Then it would get back to Corville, to Nampara, and no doubt he’d get a phone call from his father, demanding to know what Ross was playing at.

He was just Ross Vennor to Demelza, and he liked it. He’d never dated anyone who didn’t already know who he was. It was utterly refreshing to be taken at face value, to be treated like any other man. And there was no need to tell her the truth. They’d only known each other a couple of months, and had only met once a week or so. Being his girlfriend didn’t mean she had to be told everything. Not right away. No need to expose her to the weight of expectations and the inevitable media pressure, not until things were a lot further along than they were now.

Besides, she kept her own secrets. Ross had seen another bruise on her today. Dark purples and blues, wrapped around her wrist. Like a hand hold, as if somebody had grabbed hold of her hard. She was lucky it wasn’t broken. He wouldn’t ask – she wouldn’t tell – but he couldn’t help wanting to know what had happened. Who had done it. Single father, he thought grimly, left with seven children, and Demelza didn’t drink, but wouldn’t say why.

“Drake must have been young when your mother died,” he said to Demelza when at last she was able to come back to his end of the bar.

“Just turned five,” she nodded. “I was thirteen.” He wanted to ask more, but he had enough sense to know not to push for confidences she didn’t want to share. He’d had that done to him more than once since his own mother had died, though that was fourteen years ago now and she was a distant memory. But Demelza gave him a look that showed she knew what he was thinking. “Traffic accident,” she said quietly. “Christmas Eve.” No wonder she hated Christmas, he thought. Thirteen years old, left motherless on Christmas Eve. “There was that much rain, you could hardly see through it,” Demelza went on, “and the car skidded. She went flying ten feet through the air.”

“You saw it?”

“Me and Luke and Sam. The others were with our dad.” Ross reached out for her, and Demelza met him halfway, tangling her fingers with his. Then she laughed. “We buried her on the twenty-eighth, and had the wake,” she remembered. “There was something wrong with some of the food – somebody brought fish, or something, that wasn’t cooked right. Dad was off out with his brother, getting pissed, and I had all six boys throwing up all night, and me trying not to join in.”

Ross smiled a little. “Must have been hard.”

“Oh, well,” she shrugged. “We all die, don’t we? Rich or poor, sick or healthy.”

“How very practical.”

“I have six brothers and near raised the younger ones myself,” said Demelza, grinning now. “You learn how to be practical when you’ve got that many brothers.”

“I hardly remember my brother,” said Ross. “But I have cousins – two of them. Verity and Francis. We lived next door to each other, so they’re as close as I get to siblings.”

“Tell me about them,” Demelza invited. Then she made a face and squeezed his hand a little. “Sorry, I forgot,” she said. “Your girlfriend and your cousin – must have been hard.”

“I…try not to think about it much these days,” said Ross, a deliberate evasion. It _had_ been hard. God, it had been hard. He hadn’t dealt with it well, he could recognise that, although at the time it had seemed the only route open to him, to go off rails the way he had. To damn himself and everyone around him. Gambling debts and drinking, and he supposed it wouldn’t have been too long before other things became involved as well. He’d never taken drugs, but he’d been offered them a time or two back then, in the dark days, and he knew himself. A gambler at heart. One day he might have taken a gamble.

“Was it him or her?” Demelza asked. Ross choked on a laugh, and Demelza grinned widely, teasingly. She was trying to pull him away from the memories and the hurt, and he was willing to let her try.

“Him,” he said. “Elizabeth is quite firmly heterosexual. Verity too, as far as I know.”

“Oh, well, you never know,” said Demelza with a shrug. “Order some more chips, will you? I’m hungry.”

Ross obeyed. Demelza ate the whole portion of chips, but he didn’t mind.

* * *

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
05/11/2015 18:42  
_I’m at the fireworks with the boys. Neck hurts from looking up but I’ve got candyfloss so that’s compensation._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
05/11/2015 18:47  
_I can see them from here. On the barracks roof with squad. Strictly forbidden to be up here but great view._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
05/11/2015 19.01  
_Probably better than from here. Drake and Robbie are too short to see much. People keep treading on my toes._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
05/11/2015 19.03  
_If I’d known you were going I’d have sneaked out and come with you._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
05/11/2015 19.06  
_You’re not getting into trouble on my account, soldier boy!_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
05/11/2015 19.08  
_No better reason._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
05/11/2015 19.17  
_Smooth talker. See you Saturday?_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
05/11/2015 19.21  
_Might get there Friday night. Otherwise, Saturday._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
05/11/2015 19.26  
_Don’t come Friday night, it’s packed and you’ll spend all night sulking that I can’t talk to you._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
05/11/2015 19.30  
_Talking can be overrated._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
05/11/2015 19.34  
_Ha, don’t push your luck, soldier boy. But I won’t have time for anything else either, so make it Saturday._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
05/11/2015 19.37  
_Alright. Don’t miss me too much before then xx_

* * *

Demelza yawned and leaned her head on Ross’s shoulder. Sunday nights, after a long weekend working in the pub, always found her yawning and longing for her bed – especially since Luke didn’t finish until an hour after she did on Sundays, and she had to hang about in the empty pub waiting for him – but her Sunday nights were improved when Ross could stay until closing, and sometimes beyond, as he could tonight.

She felt him press a kiss to her hair. It was nice, sitting here with him, with no need to talk much. She didn’t think she’d ever had anyone with whom she was contented to simply sit and be. Still, she felt a little bad that she was such poor company tonight.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m not much fun tonight. Long week.”

“If I came here for entertainment, that would be a problem,” said Ross, his voice rich with amusement.

“What do you come here for, then?” she asked lazily. It was easy to banter with Ross, teasing and being teased in turn. It was comfortable, like an old shoe or an old habit. It hardly seemed possible that she’d only first met him in September. It was mid-November now – barely more than a handful of weeks. But they’d clicked, somehow. Or that was how she felt, anyway.

“The food, naturally,” Ross returned, and Demelza poked a finger into his stomach. Ross chuckled. She yawned again, and Ross pulled her a little closer to him, his hand warm at her hip. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said. “You’ve still got to get home.”

“Cold air’ll wake me up,” Demelza said, closing her eyes. “Won’t be long before Luke gets here. ‘sides, my Monday morning job stopped and I’ve not found anything else yet, so I can go back to bed after the boys are off to school.”

“Remind me, that was the old lady who died?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Mondays and Thursdays, Demelza had gone to old Mrs Rogers, three hours in the morning on both days. It hadn’t just been cleaning, either – cups of tea, sorting post, chatting to the old lady who had clearly been desperate for company. She’d been dead four weeks now, and though Demelza had hinted to her other jobs that she had time to take on more cleaning, so far nobody seemed interested, or to know anybody who was looking for a cleaner. She still had plenty of other work, but she’d lost six hours of work a week, and it wasn’t going to be long before that started making a difference to the household budget. She could make it up from her weekend wages, of course, but then that would put a dent in her university fund.

“I’ll find something,” she said aloud, choosing to be optimistic rather than think about what economies she might be able to make if nothing turned up.

“Of course you will,” said Ross. He seemed to have a quiet confidence in her that Demelza wasn’t sure was entirely merited, but it was nice to hear.

The pub was beginning to cool a little. The heating cut off at closing, and only went back on a couple of hours before opening. It meant that she had an excuse to lean close to him. His arm around her waist, hers around his, her fingers tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Demelza knew herself to be a tactile person, despite six years of her father’s best efforts to teach her that touch wasn’t always a good thing, and she loved this closeness with Ross. The way they could just sit together quietly like this, wrapped up in each other, with little need for anything else.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Demelza fished it out for him and kissed the smirk off his mouth before passing it over. But kissing him had distracted them both, and before long Ross managed to pull Demelza into his lap, apparently doing his best to make sure she couldn’t get cold. Kissing him was another thing Demelza was rapidly growing to love. Gentle or passionate or tender, every kind of kiss. And he was as much a gentleman in this as he was in other respects – his hands never wandering beyond what Demelza was comfortable with, never moving to her breasts or arse unless Demelza made it quite clear that he could. No quick fumbles behind the pub, though more than once Demelza had been left wishing they would. He was getting the idea, though. He slipped a hand beneath the hem of her shirt, now, fingers splayed against the small of her back.

The phone beeped again from where it had been discarded on the table beside them. Demelza nipped at his lower lip and unclenched her fist from his shirt.

“Better get that,” she said, trying not to sound too breathless. “Someone wants you.” She grinned and touched his swollen lips with her forefinger. “Someone else,” she teased.

“It won’t be important,” Ross said. He chased after her finger and took it into his mouth, sucking at it, swirling his tongue around the pad of it. Demelza lost track of her thoughts for a moment which was, no doubt, his intention. Then she fumbled for the phone and thrust it at him.

“Behave,” she scolded.

“I always behave.”

“Behave better, then!”

Ross chuckled at her, but he took the phone and checked the messages while Demelza slid off his lap and straightened her shirt. She knew exactly what Luke would say if he turned up to find her in disarray. He had a tendency to be over-protective, her eldest brother. She could take care of herself, and Luke had never suggested otherwise, but still he tended to be guarded and unwelcoming whenever Demelza had male friends, at least at first. Jim Carter he had grown to like – it helped that Jim was already married, of course, to Jinny, who worked at the bar during the week – but Ross was a newcomer and unknown. Luke didn’t like that. They were close-knit, the Carne children, and Luke especially was protective of Demelza.

If he turned up and found Demelza’s shirt askew and one of the buttons unfastened, she knew well enough that he would pitch a fit.

“It’s from Verity,” Ross said after a few minutes. There was some note in his voice that she couldn’t decipher, but he didn’t look angry or upset. Not about _her_ , then. Elizabeth.

“Isn’t it the middle of the night there?” Demelza questioned. “Corville is – what, an hour ahead of us?”

“That’s right,” said Ross absently, tapping in a reply. “She works odd hours.” He didn’t say what his cousin did, and Demelza fought a rising sense of frustration. Sometimes she felt she knew hardly more about him now than she had eight weeks ago. It wasn’t true, of course. She knew a lot more now. But there was always something held back, something unspoken. She couldn’t think what it was. It wasn’t lack of trust, she knew that much. She knew he trusted her. He had revealed vulnerabilities and weaknesses that she suspected he had rarely, if ever, shared with anyone else.

Besides, she knew he grew frustrated at the way she edited her own life when he asked about it. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, it was just that…

Well, some things were better kept buried, that was all.

“She wants to know why she can never get hold of me these days,” Ross said, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in a faint smile. “I’ve told her my girlfriend is holding me captive.”

“Ross!” Demelza dived for the phone, though she knew Ross wouldn’t really have done such a thing. He held it out of her reach by virtue of his longer arms, laughing at her all the while, until Demelza distracted him by pressing close for a kiss. It worked. She plucked the phone from his hand and read the sent message. ‘ _My girlfriend is keeping me busy_ ’, he’d written, and Demelza let herself bask in the glow of being his girlfriend, just for a moment. Then she relinquished the phone back to him as it beeped again, a new message from Verity.

Ross laughed again when he saw the message, and showed it to Demelza. Verity, it seemed, would not believe Ross without proof.

“Sounds like you’ve fooled her once too often,” said Demelza.

“I’ll send her a picture.”

“You haven’t got any of me.”

“I will do in a minute,” he said, his innocence pure fakery as he lifted the phone up to take a picture of her. Demelza didn’t have time to object.

“You’re a right bastard sometimes,” she said conversationally, as she watched Ross sending the blurred, poorly-lit photograph to his cousin.

“I’ll have you know my parents were happily married,” Ross said, his eyes twinkling. “You’ll just have to let me take another one, if you’re not happy with that.” Demelza rolled her eyes, but took the phone and leaned close to him, resting her head on his shoulder again as she took a picture of the two of them.

“There,” she said. “That’s a nice one. Send it to me as well as Verity?” Ross obeyed; a moment later her own phone buzzed from her bag on the table. Then there came a knock at the pub door, and Demelza looked up at the clock above the bar. Luke was on time, as usual. She heaved herself to her feet and grabbed her bag and coat. “Come on, then,” she said. “You’ve a longer walk than I do.”

Ross kissed her once more before she could open the door for Luke. Strategic timing, she thought with amusement. He knew Luke’s attitude by now. The kiss was chaste, brief, but full of tenderness. Demelza wanted to chase after his mouth when he withdrew. She wanted to stay like this forever. Nothing else existed. No bills, no mindless cleaning jobs, no father – just her and Ross.

Luke knocked again.

“Yeah, I’m coming!” she called out, and opened the door. It was bitterly cold outside, colder than mid-November had any right to be, but the cold air cooled her libido instantly. “Hey, Luke,” she greeted. “Good day at work?”

* * *

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
20/11/2015 10.43  
_New job for Mondays and Thursdays! I am awesome, etc etc._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
20/11/2015 12.29  
_Sorry, couldn’t check phone before lunch. Knew you’d find something. Cleaning job?_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
20/11/2015 12.34  
_Childminding a toddler._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
20/11/2015 12.38  
_Poor child. How on earth did you convince its mother you’re a mature and responsible adult?_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
20/11/2015 12.41  
_Ha ha. Don’t think I won’t be getting the same joke six times over at home._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
20/11/2015 12.45  
_I’ll try to be more original in future. Still okay for Wednesday?_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
20/11/2015 12.50  
_Yes. As long as you PROMISE you’re getting off base with permission._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
20/11/2015 12.53  
_I swear. I told Halse I had a great opportunity to experience British culture and that I’d be suitably accompanied to keep me out of trouble._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
20/11/2015 12.55  
_Well that’s one way of looking at it. The great British culture of a film and then fish and chips on the beach trying not to freeze to death._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
20/11/2015 12.57  
_I’ll keep you warm. Got to go, lunch over now. Call later? xx_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
20/11/2015 13.00  
_Yep xx_

* * *

By mid-December Ross couldn’t quite imagine how his life had been without Demelza. She filled a gap he hadn’t realised was there – and not the aching, raw gap left by Elizabeth’s betrayal, either. This was something else. This was wide smiles and gentle laugher and teasing. Long, leisurely kisses during Demelza’s breaks. Discovering new things about her with each passing week. This was finding himself helping her younger brothers with their homework, and not grudging it, especially when he was rewarded for his kindness by Demelza’s bright, happy expression.

Somehow Ross had come to the point where he would do a lot to secure Demelza’s happiness. He didn’t know how it had happened. He hadn’t _meant_ for it to happen, but somehow Demelza had sneaked under his defences and made herself at home. His father wouldn’t approve, of course, but it had been a long time since Ross had cared about his father’s approval, and he wasn’t about to start now. Demelza was attractive and clever and she made him happy, and Ross didn’t give a damn whether her father was a drunkard or an earl. She meant something to him. He was still only beginning to understand what she meant to him, but he knew, at least, that she had swiftly made her way into the small group of people whose approval meant something to him.

“You look like you’re thinking serious thoughts,” said Demelza, one Saturday night when she was cleaning up the pub and he was waiting for her to finish. “What’s up, soldier boy?”

“I was just thinking that I wish I didn’t have to go home for Christmas,” Ross said. “I’d much rather stay here.” With you, he added silently. Demelza glanced at him knowingly, and he shrugged. “Well, it’s not just that,” he conceded. “Going back into that role, my family…”

“Your cousin?” Demelza suggested. Ross didn’t say anything, but she seemed to take that as the confirmation it was. “And – and her? Your old girlfriend? She’ll be there?”

“They’re married now,” said Ross, trying not to snap. “So yes, I imagine she’ll be there.” He didn’t want to think about it. When he thought about it, he was forced to admit that perhaps Elizabeth didn’t deserve quite as much blame as he wished. They had never been more than casual, not officially. And Francis – he hadn’t gone after her in any serious way. Ross didn’t really want to blame either of them for their feelings. The way Elizabeth had gone about it – maybe. He hadn’t told Demelza the specifics, but finding Elizabeth in bed with his cousin had been about the worst possible way of finding out that she didn’t feel as strongly for him as he did for her. He couldn’t believe that she had done it intentionally, but that was how it had worked out, and that more than anything had fuelled his heartbreak.

“Are you still in love with her?” Demelza asked him then. Her back was to him as she mopped the floor. Ross sighed and scrubbed his hands across his face. There was no good answer to that. He was sure she hadn’t meant it as a trick question, but it would trip him up if he wasn’t careful.

“I think I will always love her,” he said, deciding on honesty because he didn’t want to lie to her. “Don’t you always keep your first love in your heart, even just a little?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

The full weight of that settled into him, drying his mouth and making him look sharply at her. Did she mean – but surely she’d been in love before? Surely there had been somebody before him? He wasn’t sure. She’d never spoken of past boyfriends.

“I’m not in love with her,” he said at last. “I haven’t been for a while. Demelza, surely you know that I –,”

“No, Ross,” said Demelza swiftly, still keeping her back to him.

“No?”

“Don’t say it,” she told him. She put the mop into the bucket and wetted it thoroughly before continuing to clean the floor. Ross watched her, made speechless by her refusal to hear him. Not to say it – not to say the thing that he had been feeling for some weeks now – it seemed cruel on her part, and he had never yet known Demelza to be cruel.

“It’s been such a short time that we’ve been together,” Demelza said after a few moments. “And it’s not so very long since you and her broke up, and –,”

“Demelza –,”

“And I don’t want to hear it unless you’re certain sure,” she went on, ignoring his attempt to interrupt her. “Maybe – maybe after Christmas, after you’ve seen her again, you’ll come back here and wonder what you ever saw in me.”

“Only if I go blind while I’m there,” Ross teased her, choosing not to answer seriously. He had his own doubts on the subject – of course he did, he was only human – but he refused to entertain hers. Demelza turned to look at him then, an eyebrow raised and an amused smile tugging at her mouth.

“Now that’s just being silly,” she said. “Come on, do something useful and lift those chairs up for me.”

Ross stood up and bowed to her, because he knew it would make her laugh. He wondered what she would make of his home. He had thought about it before, idly – he’d imagined his coltish, vivacious Demelza in the splendour of Nampara, the formality there. She would love the gardens, and the library, but she would loathe people bowing and curtseying to her, as they would if he – well, it was far too soon to be having any thoughts of that nature. She’d laugh herself sick if she knew that he’d even had the merest daydream of such an idea, and rightly so.

She mopped the floor, and Ross helped and hindered in equal measure, and then Demelza was done except for the final locking up. They didn’t have much time left now; Ross was due back at the barracks within forty minutes, and Luke would be along soon to walk Demelza home. But there were a few minutes, and Ross and Demelza put them to good use. It was too cold to linger outside, an icy wind had sprung up during the day, but in the lingering warmth of the pub Ross held Demelza close and kissed her – until there came a pounding at the pub door.

They broke apart, and Ross frowned. Somebody was trying to gain entrance, calling out for Demelza. Not Luke. Ross knew Luke’s voice well by now. He tried to stop Demelza from going to the door, but she shook him off.

“It’s Will,” she said, and there was something in her voice that gave him pause. Demelza unbolted the door and turned the key. When she pulled the door open, a teenaged boy stumbled through, almost knocking her off her feet. “Careful,” she said. Then: “Judas God, your head! Ross, turn the main light on, let me –,”

Will was the third of the six Carne brothers, and the only one that Ross hadn’t met yet. When he’d asked Demelza about it, she’d demurred, never answering properly in the same way she never answered questions about her father – not even on the rare occasions when Ross found bruises on her. Will didn’t really live at home much, she’d say. He spent a lot of time with his mates. Secrets. Ross couldn’t blame her for keeping them, not when he had his own secret, but his, at least, didn’t involve physical danger the way hers so obviously did.

He switched on the bright main light and sucked in a breath. Will Carne was slight and small, with hair as red as Demelza’s own and a nose that he shared with a number of his brothers. His hoodie was wet, his jeans were ripped at both knees – not intentionally, Ross guessed. There was blood all over him. A cut on his hand, another on his head, that one bleeding sluggishly. Will seemed barely able to stand on his own two feet. He leaned against Demelza, who seemed overwhelmed by the weight of her brother, though he was shorter than she was.

“What _happened?_ ” Demelza asked in an appalled tone. Ross went to help her get the boy to a chair, and took the opportunity to get a closer look at the gash on Will’s head. He winced. Bad enough for stitches. What the hell had happened to him? If it was his father –

“Couple of lads jumped me coming out of the club,” muttered Will. The vicious anger that had risen in Ross began to subside. He went to the bar and found a cloth, wetted it and brought it back. Demelza took it with a grateful look and began to clean Will’s hand. “Can’t go anywhere tonight, not like this,” he went on. “I hoped you’d still be here. Who’s he?”

“This is Ross,” said Demelza. “My boyfriend.”

“Since when?”

“Since a while, and don’t you get like that with me, I’ve not seen you in three weeks together, and then not for more than five minutes,” Demelza snapped. “Judas God, Will, and then you turn up covered in blood!”

“That’ll need stitching,” Ross said, reluctant to break into what he was sure would be a wonderfully entertaining tirade, for him if not for Demelza’s unfortunate brother. “You won’t be able to get a taxi to take him – I’d better call an ambulance.”

“No!” said Demelza, leaving off her ministrations to her brother to look up at Ross with wide eyes. Ross raised his eyebrows, waiting for something more. “We can’t go to the hospital,” Demelza told him. “We just can’t. There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen, I’ll fix him up – I’ve done it before.”

“Demelza, head wounds are nasty – what if –,”

“They’ll call social services,” Will mumbled. Ross fell silent. Social services. A fifteen-year-old boy with a head wound, he thought. No parents with him. Just an older sister, only nineteen herself. Questions would be raised. Will had been in a club – he was underage. He would get in trouble, Demelza would get in trouble. Social services. Ross sighed. There was fear in Demelza’s face, a terror that he hated to see in her, but Will’s head needed stitches, Ross knew enough of first aid to know that much. He’d done some basic medical training with the army.

There was really only one option open to him, one that wouldn’t upset Demelza and wouldn’t make him feel that he was being neglectful of Will’s safety.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll call Dwight.”

* * *

Dwight Enys the doctor was different to the Dwight who Demelza had come to know as a regular in the pub. Dr Enys was quiet, authoritative, comprehending the situation without asking more than a very few questions. He cleaned Will’s wounds and stitched the gash on his head with dissolvable stitches, and then sent Demelza to the kitchen to make Will a cup of hot, sweet tea.

“I could do with something stronger,” Will said, with rather more optimism than Demelza felt was appropriate, especially given the circumstances. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but Dwight spoke first.

“I’d never advise combining alcohol with a head injury,” he said mildly. “Sweet tea, on the other hand, is excellent when you’re at risk of shock. Do you mind, Demelza?”

“Of course not,” she said. In fact she was glad to escape into the kitchen for a while. It was hardly the first time her brother had come to her after a fight, but it never got easier to see, and this evening was particularly bad. She wasn’t stupid, she _knew_ head wounds could bleed disproportionately to the injury, but even so it had been a shock, to see the amount of blood streaming down his head.

She put the kettle on, with enough water for everyone to have tea. Then she leaned against the counter and closed her eyes. She tried to think about where Will could go that would be safe, tonight, because he couldn’t go home, not on a Saturday night. Her father had regular habits; he went out drinking at the pub every Saturday without fail, with his brother and their friends. He would be at home by now, but drunk. Demelza always avoided him on Saturday nights – it was safest. The boys were usually safe from him, it was her that set him off when he was deep in his cups. Her hair, her eyes, her smile. Her height, her slenderness. Her name, even.

Too much like her mother. Too much like Tom Carne’s dead wife.

And Will – well, if Will went home, he’d be in danger too. Their father hated him, hated what Will was, and Will usually only came home for odd nights during the week, when usually their father was sober. Then there was vitriol and arguments, but no physical danger.

But Will was right, none of his friends could take him in, not this late on a Saturday, not covered in blood.

Footsteps behind her. Demelza knew Ross’s tread by now, so she stayed where she was and kept her eyes closed. He came to stand close to her, slid his arms around her waist and held her. His chin rested on her shoulder. There was a comfort in this, but she didn’t think it would last long. Questions were inevitable, and she couldn’t deny him some answers, not when he’d risked trouble for himself and trouble for Dwight by asking Dwight to come here, breaking their curfew.

“Why can’t Will go home with you, Demelza?” Ross asked quietly, after a few more moments of silence.

“He’s gay, and Dad’s a raging homophobe,” Demelza said. Ross hummed an encouraging noise. “He’s never quite dared tell Will not to come back, but he hates Will being in the house, and on a Saturday night it’s safest for Will not to be home.”

“Safest why?”

“Ross,” said Demelza, agonised. “Please don’t ask.”

Ross sighed. She could feel the way his chest moved, pressed against her back. Please don’t let him ask again, she thought desperately. He had to have some idea of what went on – he wasn’t stupid, and there were only so many times she could say that the boys were rough sometimes, that she wasn’t looking where she was going, that she tripped in the shower. It might have worked with just a regular in the pub. Somebody like Dwight, who didn’t see her often enough to know better. Not with Ross, not now. He saw her most weekends, they’d gone on a date mid-week now, he knew she wasn’t a clumsy person. Yes, Ross had to know something, or suspect something.

But she was not a damsel in distress needing to be rescued by anyone, not even by a soldier boy from Corville. Not even by a man that she – that she loved.

Ross sighed again, and pressed a kiss to her throat.

“Fine,” he said. “Not tonight. Is there anywhere he can go? Jim Carter?”

“No, not at this hour,” Demelza said, turning around in his embrace so she could put her arms about his neck. His expression showed his unhappiness, but she knew he wouldn’t ask again, not tonight. Another night, perhaps, but not tonight. “And he’s right,” she went on, “none of his friends will have him this late, covered in blood – I mean, not his friends, but their parents, they’re the ones who’d object.” By and large Will’s friends had understanding parents, and Will was welcome with all of them – so long as he arrived at a decent hour and didn’t disturb people once they were asleep. It was too late, now, to risk trying any of them.

“There’ll be a hotel open somewhere in the town centre,” Ross suggested

“Right,” she scoffed. “As if we’ve money for that.” Ross’s face was too carefully blank, and Demelza pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, Ross,” she said. “It’s that thoughtful of you, but no. We couldn’t.”

“Of course you could,” he said. “I’ve got plenty of money and no use for it. Will needs to be somewhere safe tonight – do you think I could live with myself if I let him just wander off and sleep rough? Especially with a head injury.”

Demelza extricated herself from him and pushed him away from her, temper rising.

“We are not a charity,” she snapped. “Do you have any idea what you sound like?” She knew Ross was well-off – it was obvious, from his clothes and his education and the things he’d said about his family – but apart from that first night, he’d never once flaunted his money in front of her. Not like this. She had never felt so insulted.

“Oh, come on, Demelza –,”

“We’re not rich but I can take care of my family!”

“I never thought that you couldn’t,” Ross said, his expression blackening, his jaw tense and eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t what I meant to say.” Demelza looked at him scornfully, and then turned away from him to put the kettle back on. It had boiled already, and been ignored. Teabags in the mugs. Sugar. Boiling water over the teabags. Ross watched her, an itch between her shoulder blades, but she was too angry to look at him.

“You won’t let me help you,” Ross said at last. Demelza clenched her hands into fists but didn’t turn around. He sounded angry, but wearied too. It hurt her to hear how tired he sounded. “You won’t even admit what’s going on – and that’s fine, that’s your choice,” he continued. “I don’t like it but I can live with it, for now. But for God’s sake, let me at _least_ do this for the woman I love!”

Demelza couldn’t move. She stared down at the mugs of tea, listened to the muted sounds of Will and Dwight in the bar, and couldn’t move. Love. _Love_.

“Demelza,” Ross said. He stepped closer to her, touched her shoulder, and Demelza felt hot tears stinging at her eyes, inexplicably. Ross turned her around to face him, gentle but firm, and the tears spilled down Demelza’s cheeks. “You’re crying,” Ross said, aghast. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

Demelza choked on a sob and leaned against him, hiding her face against his shoulder. Ross held her close and rubbed her back, murmured soothingly to her, until Demelza managed to regain control. The collar of his shirt was wet against her face, she’d cried so much. But at last the tears stopped, and she lifted her head and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to cry.” She smiled a watery smile at him. “If you’re sure, it’d be kind of you to pay for Will to have a hotel room for the night.”

“Of course I’m sure,” said Ross. He bent his head and kissed away her tears. “Dwight and I can take him on our way back to base. Demelza, the other thing –,”

“It’s okay.”

“I know you didn’t want me to say it,” said Ross, ignoring her, too determined to speak. “But it’s true, Demelza. I’m in love with you.” Demelza tried to speak, but he stopped her. “You make me want to be a better man,” he told her. “You have no idea how you’ve – but I won’t say it again. Not until you’re ready.”

Demelza laughed. She couldn’t help it, though she could see how it made Ross feel. She cupped his face between her hands and kissed him, properly this time. Ross, though surely confused, kissed her back. Gently, as though she might break. Demelza couldn’t blame him for thinking that, not when she’d made a spectacle of herself by bursting into tears. It was the stress of Will turning up covered in blood; she wasn’t usually given to being emotional like that. But it made Ross hold her gently, kiss her gently. That wasn’t a bad thing, not always.

“Tell me again after Christmas,” she whispered when they parted. “When you’ve seen her and come back – say it to me then.”

“And you’ll let me say it?” he teased. She smiled, reassured by his tone.

“Yes,” she said. “And – and I’ll tell you then. About everything. If you want to know.” He began to speak but Demelza silenced him with a kiss. “So long as you promise not to do anything stupid,” she said. “I’m a big girl, soldier boy. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” Ross nodded. “But you need to promise something, too.”

“What’s that?”

“If it gets any worse,” Ross said, more serious than she’d ever seen him before, “then you get help. From me, or from Dwight if it’s while I’m away over Christmas – from _anyone_. Demelza, promise me.”

“I promise,” Demelza said, and she meant it. She never would have made that kind of promise before, not to anyone else, because she had never met anybody quite like Ross. She trusted him – she trusted him to help her if she needed it, and to let her be the judge of _when_ she needed it. “Now, come on,” she said, turning to pick up two of the mugs. “Help me take these through, then you’d all better be getting along. Luke will be here in a minute to walk me home.”

“Serious discussions shelved for now then,” Ross said with a smile and a nod. “Alright. Lead the way, my lady.”

Demelza rolled her eyes. “One day you’re going to tell me the thing you’re keeping back,” she said. “About all these grand manners of yours. One day we’ll both be honest, yeah?”

“Yes,” said Ross, more sincerely than she had expected. “I will tell you. I promise. After Christmas.”


	2. Chapter 2

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
22/12/2015 10.03  
_Being driven to the airport by a sergeant who looks as though he’s never smiled in his life. Doesn’t talk, even if I start a conversation. Dull. Wish you were here._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
22/12/2015 10.06  
_Stop your whining, rich boy. Most people have to take buses and trains to get around, you know._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
22/12/2015 10.010  
_I’d rather be on a train. At least then I could watch people. As it is I’m stuck with someone who thinks chatting is the eighth deadly sin._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
22/12/2015 10.13  
_Why are you being driven there, anyway? Is this another of your CO’s things about you being too wild to be allowed anywhere by yourself?_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
22/12/2015 10.16  
_Something like that. All smoke and no fire, at least these days. You’re a good influence on me._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
22/12/2015 10.21  
_You’re the only one responsible for your behaviour, soldier boy. If you’ve changed, that’s down to you._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
22/12/2015 10.24  
_It’s all you, I assure you._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
22/12/2015 10.26  
_Flatter me all you like, it doesn’t change the truth._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
22/12/2015 10.28  
_I hate shopping at this time of year. Supermarket’s packed to bursting and Drake and Robbie are whining for things._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
22/12/2015 10.33  
_You should have come with me instead. There’s always enough food to satisfy even your brothers’ appetites. Tell them I won’t bring them back presents if they’re not good._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
22/12/2015 10.48  
_Would YOU want to wrangle six teenage boys onto a plane and be responsible for them in another country?_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
22/12/2015 10.51  
_Fair point. I marvel at how you manage at all._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
22/12/2015 10.56  
_Threats and bribery, mostly. Got to dash, soldier boy, time to get some work done. Let me know when you’ve landed? xx_

* * *

The formality of a Poldark family Christmas was one of the things that Ross had always found stifling. There were traditions that went back decades, and even Ross at his most obstreperous hadn’t quite been able to ignore those, but beyond those traditions, it was a gathering of the extended family that almost always made him feel like he was suffocating. The bowing and curtseying, the protocol and scheduling – it was an itch beneath his skin, a constant irritation. He was used to it, and he knew there would never be an escape from it, but still it chafed. He should have been born anyone else, he knew. Then he might have been free to plot his own course.

And this year it was even worse. Last year, when Francis and Elizabeth had merely been engaged, Elizabeth had spent Christmas with her own family. This year she was a Poldark, one of them, present from Christmas Eve through to Boxing Day. Ross had, of course, been at the wedding – though thankfully nobody had suggested that he should be best man – but he’d managed to keep in the background then, apart from the official photographs. Now he was dragged into the middle of things, forced to pretend that he no longer harboured any ill will towards either Francis or Elizabeth.

But in truth, his anger had dissipated. He would always love Elizabeth, and perhaps there would always be a small measure of resentment at the way her relationship with Francis had been revealed, but now…

Now there was Demelza.

She would laugh at all of this, and her brothers would cause delightful chaos within minutes. No stiff propriety for any of them; instead there would be laughter and teasing and probably tears by the end of the day. Well, in fairness, for the few young children in the family, that was true anyway. But not for him, not in many years.

The only thing that stopped him packing his bags and heading back to England was Verity. She kept conversation flowing, she kept him from drinking too much, and she stayed beside him as much as she could. Nothing could keep him from his own discontent, but Verity tried to help.

“Are you still terribly unhappy, my dear?” she asked him, on Christmas Eve when they managed to snatch a few minutes alone together to talk. “You tell me so little of your life in England, and I’ve never thought the life of a soldier would suit you.”

“I am as contented as I could be,” said Ross.

“And your girlfriend? Demelza?”

“What about her?”

“Does she make you happier, Ross?” Verity asked him, rolling her eyes at his evasion. Then she smiled, startlingly bright. “No, don’t answer that,” she said. “I can see she does by the look on your face. Oh, I’m so pleased for you, Ross!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said Ross dryly. “It’s early days, and you and I both know what my father will say.”

“What does she think of all this?” Verity asked, waving a hand elegantly at their surroundings. The large sitting room where all the family were gathered; the ante-chamber they were in; the elegance and richness of it all. Cocktails served by footmen in white gloves. His father sitting watching the younger children playing, his uncle indulging in the mulled wine. Ross tried to imagine Demelza in such a setting. Demelza in a pretty dress – yellow, he thought, she looked radiant in yellow – livening everything up, playing with the children, coaxing the mood into something more natural. Far too easy to imagine her here.

“Ross?” Verity pressed him. “She does _know_ , doesn’t she?” Ross tried not to look guilty, but Verity began to glare at him, so evidently he failed. “For goodness sake, Ross!”

“I’ve never been with anyone who didn’t know who I am,” Ross said, trying to offer up his reasons to one of the few people whose opinion mattered to him. “It’s…refreshing.”

“It’s not fair on her, not if you’re serious.”

“I am.” Ross sipped his wine and smiled at the thought of Demelza, picturing her as he had last seen her. Hands on her hips, head tilted back in laughter, her nose red from the cold. Luke had been grumbling at her to hurry up, Ross had been teasing her about something, he couldn’t remember what. “I am serious,” he murmured. “And I will tell her.”

“Good,” said Verity decisively. “Oh, dear, Aunt Agatha wants me. Will you be alright by yourself, Ross?”

“I believe I can manage, yes,” he teased. Verity rolled her eyes at him again, and hurried away to tend to their great-aunt. Ross glanced around to see if anybody was looking at him, and then took his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. ‘ _Mulled wine and stilted conversation are sapping me of the will to live_ ,’ he sent to Demelza.

The response was fairly prompt: ‘ _Just been vomited over by a drunk. Your evening is clearly better._ ’

“Don’t let your father catch you with that,” came a clear, cultured voice. Ross put his phone back into his pocket and looked at Elizabeth. She was beautiful tonight, dressed in blue and her hair loose about her shoulders. Slender and pale, deceptively fragile. Every movement she made showed her breeding. Centuries of nobility. So unlike Demelza. “You know he hates phones at these things,” Elizabeth added.

“I know,” said Ross. He didn’t mean to sound curt, but it came out that way. Elizabeth winced, and Ross gave himself a mental shake. “Well, how are you enjoying your first Christmas Eve as part of the family?” he inquired, hiding behind banal civilities.

“Oh, very much,” she said. “And you, Ross? I’ve hardly spoken with you since you arrived.” Accusation in her eyes, though not her tone of voice. Ross shrugged a shoulder and took a gulp of mulled wine.

“You know what it’s like,” he said. “My time isn’t my own, here.” He glanced into the sitting room, looking for Francis, but Francis was deep in conversation with another cousin. “Francis seems well,” Ross said then. “Marriage suits you both.”

“I – well, yes,” said Elizabeth, a hand lifting self-consciously to her hair. “We’re happy, of course.” She paused. Ross let the pause linger, disinclined to speak at all. After a moment Elizabeth smiled, though it seemed a little strained. “Ross, I do hope that you’re not still angry with us. With me. I should like us to be friends again, at least.”

“Friends,” Ross echoed. “Yes, I suppose we should be that.” He turned away from her, went to stare out of a window at the garden beyond. “I’m not angry,” he said after a while. “Not any more.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“But I don’t think we can be friends.”

“Oh, Ross…”

Ross’s phone beeped. He ignored Elizabeth and took it out again to read the new message. Demelza again. ‘ _Jim’s leant me a spare shirt. Smell of vomit though. UGH. Why did I agree to work Christmas eve??!_ ’ Ross smiled, imagining how she looked. She did it for the money, of course. Time and a half tonight, and New Year’s Eve as well. And to be out of the house, probably. Christmas Eve, memories of her mother – her father’s alcoholism. Not a good combination.

“Who’s that?” Elizabeth asked, coming to stand beside him. “Really, Ross, if your father sees –,”

“Oh, I know,” Ross interrupted. “I’ll be hauled over the coals. Do you suppose I care?” Elizabeth pursed her lips and shook her head. Ross shrugged and put the phone away again. He would reply to Demelza later; she would be busy now anyway. “There,” he said. Demelza would have had a smart comment to make to him then, some sharp insight into his behaviour. She would laugh at him for his rebelliousness. She understood his internal conflict far better than Elizabeth ever had. He missed her. It had only been a few days since he had seen her, less time than often passed between his visits to the pub, but this was different. He was in another country, separated from her by hundreds of miles and the English Channel. No easy walk across town to see her.

She would laugh at him for missing her, too, but she’d be pleased to hear it nonetheless.

“Ross,” said Elizabeth quietly, “Ross, you _are_ angry.”

“Can you think of a reason why I shouldn’t be?” Ross retorted. She flinched, and Ross regretted his harshness. “I’m not angry,” he said. “But you can’t expect us to be friends, Elizabeth. Not just now.”

“Do you hate me so very much?”

“I love you,” Ross said honestly. “That’s what’s so hard.” Elizabeth flinched. Too honest. But there was no point in lying to her, nor to himself. He did still love her, though it was no longer the kind of love that he had once felt.

“I wish you had not said that,” Elizabeth said after a moment. “No good can come of it.”

“You misunderstand,” Ross said, shaking his head. “I’m not in love with you, Elizabeth. I’ll always love you, but if this time apart has shown me anything, it’s that we’re not well suited.” She looked hurt, but Ross gestured around them, as Verity had done earlier. “You like all this,” he said. “You’re content with it. I’m not, and never will be.”

“Ross –,” His phone beeped again, silencing her. Elizabeth frowned at him, but there was something like understanding beginning to show in her eyes. “You’ve met someone,” she deduced.

“I have.”

“Do you love her?”

Ross took his phone out but turned it over and over in his hands without looking at it as he tried to decide what to say. Hurting her seemed inevitable; she still seemed to want him to be in love with her, though she had made her choice. She was used to the admiration of all around her. And he did admire her, he did still love her. But Demelza had crept into his life and occupied a space in his mind and heart that he hadn’t known about before he met her.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Elizabeth,” he said at last. “What would you have me say?”

“Don’t say anything,” she said, quiet and dignified. “There’s no need.” She turned on her heel and returned to the sitting room. Ross watched as she retrieved another glass of mulled wine before joining her husband, then he checked his phone.

‘ _Have you gone blind yet?_ ’ Demelza had sent to him. Ross huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head before composing a text back.

‘ _My eyes are wide open._ ’

* * *

Christmas for the Carnes meant church. After breakfast but before presents, before any festivities, the Carnes dressed in their neatest clothes and walked down to the church, led by Tom Carne and with Demelza at the rear to stop anybody straggling. Tom Carne might be a lapsed Catholic, but on Christmas Day he took his family to church. All save Will, of course, who was at home for Christmas but hadn’t stepped foot inside a church in the four years since realising he was gay.

Demelza didn’t mind that so much. She had no particular religious convictions herself, but the church was beautiful and the hymns familiar. It was afterwards that was hard, when her father took them all out into the churchyard to visit their mother’s grave. That was hard. Not, these days, because she missed her mother in any particular way, but because Tom Carne hated the sight of the grave, and afterwards he hated the sight of her. Every Christmas was the same, at least for the last few years. They would go home after visiting the grave, open their meagre presents, and Tom Carne would start drinking.

Not fast. Not gulping it down. Not aiming to get drunk, though that was the inevitable result. Once the presents were open, he sat in front of the television and drank slowly but steadily, while the boys occupied themselves with their new presents and Demelza and Luke cooked a roast for supper.

Then the complaints. Supper wasn’t on time. The roast lamb wasn’t cooked well enough. Demelza hadn’t cooked any sprouts. She was smiling too much. She wasn’t smiling enough. She hadn’t got the gravy right. Her mother was a better cook. Her mother was an angel walking on earth. Her mother was better at everything. Her mother, her mother, her mother, until Demelza wanted to scream.

There was never violence. Not on Christmas Day. But by the end of it, Demelza stumbled into bed and vowed that she would get away. In September she would get away, she would go to Exeter to take up her place at the university, and she wouldn’t look back. There would be holidays, of course – but never for long. Her brothers would manage. Luke was responsible, Sam was becoming so. And though some of them shared her red hair, and some of them had their mother’s eyes, none of them were female and so none of them reminded Tom Carne so strongly of his dead wife.

She picked up extra shifts in the pub between Christmas and New Year, and that at least kept her out of the house more. Then there were frequent texts from Ross, who seemed determined to make sure she knew that he was missing her and thinking about her. It was reassuring to have the contact when she knew he was spending time with his ex-girlfriend. But he seemed certain of himself, which helped Demelza feel that she could believe what he’d said to her, and what he had promised to say again.

It was insanity, of course. Hopelessly insane. He was from another _country_ , he was in the army, he could be stationed anywhere. And she was off to university in the autumn. There was no future in it. There couldn’t be. But logic and reason were poor tools to combat the way she felt, and it was a losing battle.

The second of January found her dragged out of bed far too early by John, Robbie and Drake. It took a while to make sense of what they were trying to tell her, all three talking over each other, loud and excitable and eager. Demelza wished, futilely, for caffeine. Instead she put her coat over her pyjamas, jammed her bare feet into trainers, and went outside to see whatever it was that her three youngest brothers wanted her to see.

It turned out to be a dog – though dog, she thought sceptically as she looked at it, might be an overstatement. It was a runty-looking mongrel of some description, sandy-coloured beneath the dirt encrusted into its fur. It whined when it saw her, wagging the tail that seemed to have been injured at some point, judging by how short it was. Demelza stared at it, and then stared at her brothers.

“Can we keep it?” Drake asked.

“Please, Demelza!” John chimed in.

“We’ll take it for walks and everything,” Robbie swore.

Demelza rubbed her eyes and shivered. It was cold and it was barely light yet, and it was far too early for this.

“You know we can’t,” she said. “Dad won’t let us.” The dog came up to her, and despite her best intentions, Demelza bent over and let him sniff her hand. “Hello, boy,” she murmured. “You been rolling in mud, eh?” The dog barked once, as if in answer, and licked her palm. Demelza melted a little. “And fighting too,” she said, touching his ear gently. There was dried blood crusted into the fur there, but he was so filthy that she couldn’t see if there was an open cut beneath the blood. “Where did you find him?” she asked her brothers.

“Down the beach,” said John. Demelza decided not to ask why they’d been down at the beach by themselves. They weren’t allowed, and they _knew_ they weren’t allowed, but sometimes it was better to let things go.

“He doesn’t have a collar, we checked,” said Robbie, crouching down next to Demelza and copying her example, holding out his hand to let the dog sniff it. “He’s friendly, and he’s starving, Demelza, look at him!”

Demelza made a face. “Robbie…”

“We’ll walk him,” Drake said, looking at her with wide, pleading eyes. “Every day. And we’ll feed him, and –,”

“And where’s the money for that coming from?” Demelza asked him gently. “Walking and feeding isn’t the end of it, Drake. There’s vaccinations and vet bills and – and you’d have to walk him every day, even in the rain, even if you’re tired.”

“We could use my paper round money,” said John. That was unexpected; John had only been doing the paper round a few months, and Demelza knew he’d been saving the money. It was only a Saturday job, though, barely a few hours a week. It wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. “I’d love to keep him – I mean, as long as he doesn’t belong to someone else, he might have a microchip…but we can’t. You _know_ Dad wouldn’t let us.” The dog sat down in front of her and licked her hand again. He was such a mongrel, but there was something appealing about him. Something trusting in the way he looked at her. “He’s probably got fleas,” she added. “We’d have to wash him first off.”

“I’ll go to the supermarket and get some proper dog shampoo!” Robbie offered, standing up and making as if to go back into the house.

“You will not!” Demelza said at once. She stood up and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Nobody’s going anywhere until after breakfast, and for the love of God somebody better make me a cup of tea if you want me to make any kind of a decision.” Robbie grinned and ran inside, hopefully to put the kettle on. “Drake, or John, whichever – find some string or something, make a collar for him, and tie him to the fence. After breakfast –,” She had to pause while they both whooped and cheered, and the dog added his voice to the noise, barking excitedly. “After breakfast,” Demelza tried again, shouting them down, “once Dad’s gone to work, we’ll get him up to the bathroom and give him a bath with regular shampoo. Then if we need to, you can go to the shops and get some stuff for his fleas.”

What her father was going to say didn’t bear thinking about. But she couldn’t leave the dog outside as a stray, not in this weather. If he had a microchip, he’d be returned to his family. If not…

Well, there was probably _some_ leeway in the budget for dog food.

She trudged back inside and discarded her coat and trainers before heading back upstairs to her room to get dressed. Luke and Sam hadn’t stirred yet. Her father’s bedroom was similarly quiet. Good. But maybe he wouldn’t be opposed to it – maybe if the three boys put it to him as their idea, their suggestion, and Demelza showed how they would pay for the dog…

No sense borrowing trouble. One thing at a time. After breakfast she would wrestle the dog into the bath and try to get it clean. Then she’d better ring the nearest vet and see if they’d scan him for a microchip. There was no sense making any plans until they knew whether he really was a stray.

Demelza checked her phone before heading back downstairs, but there was nothing from Ross. It was probably too early. He was due back later today, anyway, and he’d said he would try to escape from base by tomorrow, to come and see her at the pub. Hopefully with permission, not without. It was flattering, in a way, that he was so eager, but she didn’t want him to get into trouble with his commanding officer. Then he’d be confined to base, most likely, and then it might be weeks before he was allowed out again.

Robbie was waiting with a cup of tea when she got downstairs – and toast, which was a pleasant surprise. Demelza sank into a chair at the kitchen table and cupped the mug between her hands.

“You’re my favourite,” she told him. “I love you most.”

“Nah, you love Ross most,” said Robbie slyly. Demelza made a face at him. Robbie wisely didn’t say anything else, but he came to sit next to her to eat his own toast. One by one the others trooped in for breakfast. Drake and John, then Will – still here, at least for now – and then tumbling down the stairs came Sam and Luke. The kitchen was cramped with all of them there, all knocking into each other as they got their breakfasts and cups of tea.

Then the dog began barking, and a thud from the room above heralded the awakening of Tom Carne.

“Where’s there a dog?” Sam asked, still half asleep. “We don’t have a dog.”

“We do now,” said Drake, but quietly, looking up towards the ceiling. Luke and Demelza exchanged a worried look, but there was nothing more to be said. Not at the moment.

* * *

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
03/01/2016 15.07  
_I’m at the pub. Jinny says you called in sick. Are you okay?_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
03/01/2016 15.13  
_Not feeling well. Sorry, meant to text you to save you a trip but fell asleep._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
03/01/2016 15.15  
_Not well how? Do you need anything? Just realised I don’t even have your address._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
03/01/2016 15.18  
_John and Robbie are keeping me fed and watered. Don’t worry about me._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
03/01/2016 15.20  
_Please tell me the truth._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
03/01/2016 15.23  
_Did he hit you?_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
03/01/2016 15.27  
_I need your address. Do I need to call for Dwight?_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
03/01/2016 15.33  
_On my way now._

* * *

Ross got Demelza’s address, and directions to it, from Jinny Carter. It hadn’t taken much persuasion, and Ross wondered how much her co-workers knew about Demelza’s home situation. Most of it, perhaps, but all suspicion and assumptions, most likely. It wasn’t far from the pub – a ten minute walk, close to the beach but further from the tourist trails. Number seventeen, Jinny had said. It looked just the same as the other houses on the street – an ordinary brick house, the front garden given over to a driveway, bikes chained to the fence. Lace curtains across the windows. The front door was painted blue, and John was sitting on the front door step.

Ross stopped a few paces away and looked him over carefully. There wasn’t a scratch on him. That was one safe, then. But John was quiet, kept his head down – that was the impression Ross had got, from his few meetings with him. Maybe John had just been quicker to get out of the way. Maybe there were bruises that weren’t visible. It was January, and John had a coat and hat on. Not much skin visible.

“Don’t come in,” John said. “She won’t want you here.”

“Is your father home?” Ross asked him. John shook his head.

“At work,” he said. “Luke and Sam too.”

“Then I’m going in.”

John sighed and folded his arms, looking every inch the sulky teenager. It was refreshing, really, to see normal behaviour from him. Not that Ross appreciated sulky teenagers, but at least it showed that John was unbroken.

“Fine,” John said. “But don’t blame me when Demelza gets mad.”

“I won’t,” Ross promised. He rummaged in his pocket for his wallet, and pulled out a couple of notes. “Here,” he said, holding it out to John. “Not just for you, mind!” he added, when John’s eyes lit up and he reached greedily for the money. “Something for _everyone_. You’re allowed down to the shop by yourself, aren’t you? Get some sweets or something.”

“I’ll get a big bag of something to share,” John said. “Thanks, Ross!”

Ross pushed open the front door and stepped inside the Carne house for the first time. It was clean and tidy, though small. There was a pile of shoes at the bottom of the stairs opposite the front door. A row of hooks with coats and scarves. A strong smell of disinfectant, as if somebody had been trying very hard to clean something. There was ice in his stomach. No sign of Demelza in the front room, the sitting room. Kitchen behind – no, not there, either. Up the stairs, four bedrooms, bunk beds in two of the rooms. Three boys to a room, Ross guessed. The master bedroom was empty. That left just the room at the back, and there he found Demelza.

“Good God,” he said, standing in the doorway and staring. Demelza was on the bed, back against the wall and knees tucked up tight against her chest. There was a cut on her lip and another across her eyebrow. Her arm was in a sling, but not a cast – a sprain, probably, he decided. Her hair was loose. She looked pale, but her eyes were reddened. She’d been crying.

“Ross,” she said, startled. “What’re you doing here? I said you didn’t need to worry.”

“Of course I was worried,” said Ross, stepping into the bedroom. He closed the door behind him; he didn’t want any of the boys to hear what might become an argument. “What the _hell_ happened?” he demanded. Demelza shrugged her good shoulder and looked away from him. “You said you’d get help if it got worse,” he said. “You promised me, Demelza.”

“It didn’t get worse,” Demelza mumbled. Ross closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Luke and Sam stopped him, anyway,” she added. Him. Not ‘it’, ‘him’. It was an admission that she hadn’t made to him before, and Ross tried very hard to appreciate it.

Demelza uncurled and got up, slowly and stiffly. She was in pain, but refusing to let it stop her. Ross knew he himself was guilty of the same thing at times, but he hated to see it in Demelza. He hated to see her in pain at all. The bedroom was so small that it only took three steps to bring her close to him.

“I’m fine,” she told him. “Or I will be, anyway. It’s just a few bruises, Ross. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Let me see,” Ross said, and Demelza looked at him in mute question. “Take off your shirt,” he said, biting off the words. He couldn’t believe her, not until he had seen for himself.

“Ross –,”

“Take it _off_.”

Demelza slowly unbuttoned her shirt, starting at the top and working down. It was obviously hard, with her arm in a sling, but Ross didn’t trust himself to reach out and help her. Not when he was so afraid of what he would see beneath the shirt. The sling came off. Then the shirt. She dropped them both onto the bed behind her. Her skin was pale and smooth, her stomach lean, no fat to her anywhere. No bra on. Ross felt a twinge of conscience at that, but Demelza’s chin was lifted defiantly, as if daring him to say something. There were bruises all across her shoulder, yellows and greens and darker purples. He walked around her slowly. The bruising went over her shoulder and down her back. It looked like she had been hit with something – something other than somebody’s hand. But no cuts here, thank God, just the bruising. _Just_.

Ross traced the edge of one of the bruises. Demelza’s breath hitched, but she said nothing.

“Why the sling?” he asked at last.

“Dislocated my collarbone,” Demelza muttered. “It’s just to rest it, so I don’t hurt it too much.” He put his hands at her waist, holding her gently, and so he felt when she shivered. “It’s fine, Ross,” she said, but it wasn’t fine. None of this was fine. The sight of the bruises and cuts on her made his blood boil. If he hadn’t promised her – but he had, and even if he hadn’t, he had enough sense to know that if he found Tom Carne and attacked him, it would probably be enough to cause a diplomatic incident.

“Are your brothers alright?” he inquired.

“Yes, they’re…they’re fine.” Demelza paused, and Ross carefully pulled her closer to him, so her back was resting against his chest. He slid one hand from her waist to her stomach and felt the way her diaphragm moved with each breath she took. “He doesn’t go for them,” she admitted then. “Just me.”

“Why you?”

“My mother’s name was Demelza,” she said. Ross frowned, confused, but Demelza went on. “She had hair like mine,” she said, “and eyes like mine, and she was tall and thin like me, and she died and I’m still alive, and he hates me for it.” Ross inhaled sharply, but found he had nothing to say. But Demelza wasn’t finished. “He doesn’t go for the boys – except Will, sometimes,” she said. “Just me. So when I go, when I’m off at uni, I know they’ll be safe. And it’s not usually as bad as this, he went off on one because the kids brought a stray dog home, so I…I can manage. It’s just until September.”

“September is a long way away,” Ross said quietly.

“I don’t need saving, Ross.”

“Your shoulder tells a different story.”

“Look, Ross, I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time,” Demelza said, twisting around in his arms to glower at him. It had the unfortunate effect of bringing her breasts fully into view, and Ross couldn’t quite help looking at them, full of anger and worry though he was. Demelza inhaled to say something else, and then she softened. “Eyes up here, soldier boy,” she said, seeming to slip easily into the teasing banter that has been such a feature of their relationship.

“Sorry,” Ross said, an automatic response. He thought about turning to get her shirt from the bed, but he couldn’t manage to let go of her. It had been a long few weeks without her, and then the panic of finding her not at work, the anguish at finding her bruised and bloody – it had all left him keyed up. And she was standing in his arms bare-chested, and even her bruises weren’t quite enough to stop him from wanting her.

Demelza licked her lips. Ross tried to remember that she was injured. Vulnerable. But she lifted her head and kissed him, coaxing him into setting aside his concern, at least for the moment. Mindful of the cut on her lip, he let her guide the kiss. Gentle, careful. Tender. Ross held her close and closed his eyes. If she would let him, he would take her away. He would do _something_. What was the use of all his money and his family and his status if he couldn’t help her? But she wouldn’t ever let him. She was stubborn and independent and he loved that about her.

“The door’s got a lock on it,” Demelza whispered against his mouth.

“You’re hurt,” Ross protested. “Your shoulder – and your brothers –,”

“Shoulder’s just a bit sore, it’s fine,” she said dismissively. “I’m _fine_ , Ross, honest. And my brothers know not to come barging in here if the door’s shut, even if I didn’t have a lock.” She grinned at him, her eyes twinkling, full of mischief. “One too many times walking in on me in my undies,” she said. Ross huffed a laugh. Poor boys. Demelza took his hands and moved them, bold as brass, to her breasts and Ross glanced at the door, then at the window. It was already nearly dark. How long before he had to be back at base? Not more than a couple of hours.

“There’s nothing about today that makes me think I can trust your own judgement of whether you’re fine or not,” he said.

“But you’re not moving your hands. Mixed messages there, soldier boy.”

“You’re very persuasive,” said Ross, and he kissed her.

* * *

Demelza’s bruises faded, as they always did. Her father accepted the dog, grudgingly, after his first violent outburst. School started again for the younger Carne siblings, and Demelza got back to her full working week, and told anybody who asked about her cuts and bruises that she’d fallen off her bike.

She didn’t care if they believed her or not.

January began cold and wet, and Demelza, who cycled from job to job, seemed to spend most of her time feeling damp or outright soaked. Drake, Robbie and John took turns walking the dog and by mid-January had yet to have an argument about whose turn it was. Demelza christened the dog Garrick, and whenever she was at home he followed her around as if she was the most important thing in his world. He slept on her bed, too, which was lovely on cold nights, even if he _did_ have a habit of trying to lick her toes.

After his visit after Christmas, Ross didn’t manage to get off base for another two weeks. Texts and phone calls were frequent, not a day passing without some kind of contact, but she didn’t see him again until January was half over. Then, one rainy Saturday, he came into the pub just before lunch looking like a drowned rat.

“Hello, stranger,” Demelza greeted him, smiling wide at the sight of him. Hair plastered to his head, woollen coat dripping, trousers wet a good three inches above the hem. No umbrella. Idiot. But _her_ idiot. He took off his coat and came towards her, clearly intent on kissing her, but Demelza danced out of his reach. “I’m not getting wet, thank you very much,” she teased.

“Two _weeks_ ,” Ross complained.

“So dry off first,” she laughed. “Jim’ll have a couple of towels in the kitchen. Stick your coat over a radiator.”

Ross grumbled, but he went to do as she said. Soon enough he was back in the main room of the pub, hair towel-dried and coat nowhere to be seen.

“Do I pass muster now?” he asked her, and Demelza gave him a kiss as her answer. One of the regulars, in early for the football match, wolf-whistled at them. Demelza made a rude gesture, knowing it wouldn’t cause offence. The bloke and his mates all laughed good-naturedly, and Demelza tucked her hands into Ross’s pockets, keeping him close to her.

“You’ll do,” she said. “Don’t you have an umbrella, soldier boy?”

“I left it on base,” Ross admitted.

“You idiot,” Demelza said fondly. Ross accepted the insult in the spirit it was intended, and she kissed him again. “Chips and a coke?” she asked then, pulling her hands from his pockets.

“Please,” Ross said, and followed her back to the bar. “Chips for you, too – I’m hungry and I know what you’re like. You’re not having your lunch break in the park, are you?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Don’t be daft,” she said. “Nah, Mr Henshawe lets me use the office if I want. I’m not due for another hour, though.” She called the order through to Jim and got a coke for Ross. “He probably wouldn’t mind me letting you back there too,” she said, trying her best to look innocent. It was hard, because Ross smirked at her knowingly. Three weeks, though. Texts and phone calls weren’t the same thing as touching him, kissing him. She’d missed him, and she didn’t mind he if knew it.

“How’s your shoulder?” Ross asked in a low voice, accepting the pint and sliding across the correct change. By now, Demelza reflected with a smile, he knew the price of pretty much everything in the pub.

“The bruising has gone down,” she said, just as quietly, although there was nobody close enough to overhear them. “I’m fine. Just like I told you.” Ross’s mouth twisted, half-scowling, but Demelza lifted her arms up as if to stretch, showing him that she had full movement back without pain. “See?”

“Yes,” said Ross, sounding distracted. His gaze was focused somewhere below her face. Demelza brought her arms down and put her hands on her hips, arching an eyebrow when he finally looked up at her. He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, more firmly. “And nothing else has happened? No more – what is it you’ve been saying? You fell off your bike?”

With anyone else, Demelza might have been irritated at the intrusion. The concern, from anyone else, would be irritating and condescending. But Ross seemed to have accepted that she really could take care of herself – most of the time, anyway – and he seemed willing enough to let things alone. It might be different if she ended up with visible injuries again, but it was winter. Nobody thought twice about her wearing tops with long sleeves and high necks. Her father would be more careful for a while, anyway, after the state she’d been in at the beginning of the year. There’d be words, of course. There always were. But she doubted it would come to blows, not for a while. She would be careful, but so would her father. Tom Carne had his own kind of slow cunning, and if Demelza was injured like that too often, attention would be drawn to the whole family.

“I told you, soldier boy,” she said gently, “you don’t need to worry about me.”

Ross scoffed. “Of course I do,” he said. “You don’t appear to have the sense you were born with.” He paused to have a drink. Demelza waited. “I worry because I care,” he said at length. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No,” Demelza admitted. “No, I wouldn’t.” She reached across the bar and clasped his hand. Ross laced their fingers together, and then kissed the back of her hand.

“Better be careful, Demelza.” It was Jim, bringing out the two portions of chips that Ross had ordered. Demelza tugged her hand from Ross’s, fighting a blush. Jim grinned at them, but he jerked his head towards the door that led through to the office and the store rooms. “Henshawe’s about,” Jim told her.

“Ah.” Demelza smoothed her apron down and nodded. No time wasters in Mr Henshawe’s pub. He didn’t mind Demelza idling a little with Ross, or studying behind the bar, but only when there was no actual work to be done. Table five had finished eating, she realised as she glanced around the pub. “Back to work, then.” She nabbed a chip before heading off, trailed by Ross’s laughter.

Things grew busier in the pub then as the lunchtime crowd started drifting in. The regular elderly couples in for their Saturday lunch, football fans in early for a meal before the game kicked off. No tourists, not at this time of year, but some dedicated walkers who hiked a trail along the coast no matter what the weather. A couple of sixth formers trying it on. They wanted lunch and a beer each, but could produce no proof of age so Demelza served them lunch and a couple of cokes instead.

At some point John showed up, wet and cold and looking forlorn. Demelza didn’t have a chance to do more than greet him, too busy serving and clearing and taking payments, but Ross saw him and waved him over to join him at the bar. The next time Demelza got near to them it was because Ross was ordering lunch for them both.

“You don’t have to,” Demelza said to him, while John dithered about what to order. Ross lifted an eyebrow and Demelza lifted her hands and laughed. “I know,” she said. “I know. Thanks, Ross.”

“I said thank you already,” John informed her, giving her a withering glance.

“Good,” said Demelza, refusing to rise to the bait. “Manners cost nothing.” She took their order to the kitchen and then went on to another customer. By the time their food was ready, John had dragged his school books out of his rucksack, and he and Ross were bent over a maths textbook.

“I barely passed maths,” Demelza sighed, setting down the plates and leaning over to see what they were working on.

“That’s why I haven’t asked you for help,” John said with a grin. “Ross is good, though.”

“I had to be,” Ross said, pushing aside the textbook. “I had to know enough maths to understand economics.”

“How come?” John wanted to know. Demelza lingered, keen to hear the answer. Ross shrugged and drained the dregs of his coke.

“I’m expected to go into the family business,” he said. “You can’t run a co- company if you can’t work with numbers.” He’d meant to say something different. Demelza noticed it, and wondered. Before Christmas Ross had promised to tell her more about his family, about his background, but they had only met twice since Ross came back from Corville, and there hadn’t been a chance for Demelza to ask questions. Not that there was a chance now. Another table was waiting. Demelza left Ross and John to their food and went to serve the elderly couple who had finished their meal and only waited now to pay.

“He’s a bit of alright, your fellow,” said the woman, Dottie, pulling out her purse and winking at Demelza. “If I were forty years younger, duckie, you’d have a fight on your hands.”

“Oh hush now,” said her husband, Ned. “Anyone can see he’s head over heels.” Regulars, these two. Friendly couple, cheerful and good tippers. Demelza didn’t mind their teasing. “Mind, though,” he added, “it’s good of him to help your brother with his work. He’s a keeper, that one.”

“Oh, I know,” said Demelza, smiling down at the pair of them. “Don’t worry, I’m in no danger of forgetting how lucky I am.”

“I keep thinking I’ve seen him somewhere else,” said Dottie absently, as she put notes and coins on the little plate that held their bill. Too much for the meal, as usual. Money for the tip jar. Demelza was doing well today, it looked like she already had over thirty quid from the lunch service alone.

“He’s got that kind of face,” Ned said.

“No, that’s not it.” Dottie frowned and put away her purse. “Oh well,” she said. “It’ll come back to me eventually.”

“Well, let me know if it does,” Demelza said, taking the payment and stepping back to let them both clamber to their feet. “Have a good week, you two.” She went back to the bar. Most of the money went into the cash register, and the rest went into her tip jar. The pub was beginning to quieten down, the lunch service more than half over. She could take a moment; nobody else seemed to need attention yet.

“Dottie thinks she knows you from somewhere,” she said to Ross, grinning widely. “Got a secret career modelling, or something, soldier boy?”

Ross didn’t respond to the teasing the way she expected him to; he flinched a little, and then smiled, but a false, brittle smile. She’d hit a nerve, clearly.

“Or something,” he said. “I’ve probably just got one of those faces.” Demelza chewed her lower lip for a moment, looking at him thoughtfully. Ross’s smile turned more genuine, but there was still something lurking behind it that she couldn’t understand. “Are all your regulars so interested in me?” he asked, teasing her back at last.

“Nah,” she said, waving a hand at him. “They like me, is all. They tolerate you.” His outrage made her laugh hard enough to hurt her stomach. It brought Jim out of the kitchen to see what the matter was, and John gave them all a superior, bored look.

“Maths,” he said firmly. “C’mon, Ross, this is coursework and I can’t sort out these stupid equations. You promised you’d help.”

“I am!” Ross said quickly. “Look, helping. Here. Tell me what you’ve done here.”

Demelza left them to it, but even the arrival of the football crowd couldn’t stop her smiling that afternoon.

* * *

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
02/02/2016 21.07  
_Valentine’s is on a Sunday this year. I suppose that means you’re working? xx_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
02/02/2016 21.10  
_Yes. Don’t tell me you were going to do some ridiculously romantic date or something._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
02/02/2016 21.13  
_Alright, I won’t. I should be able to get off-base for the whole afternoon, though, so that’s something._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
02/02/2016 21.14  
_Don’t do anything daft or expensive. I mean it, Ross. I don’t need you spending money on me. You’re enough xx_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
02/02/2016 21.16  
_That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
02/02/2016 21.18  
_Enjoy the moment, soldier boy. How did the exam go?_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
02/02/2016 21.21  
_It went. I only went for it to irritate Halse. I don’t think I’m captain material really. No amount of studying rules and procedures and strategies can change that._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
02/02/2016 21.14  
_That’s not true. You can’t fool me, I know you too well by now. Results will be out in a couple of weeks and you’ll know then. And the exam’s only part of it, anyway. You’re too self-critical, that’s your problem._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
02/02/2016 21.17  
_And the moment is gone :P xx_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
02/02/2016 21.18  
_One day you’ll learn to live with yourself. Until then, trust me. You’d be a good captain. People listen to you, and you want to do your best for everyone around you._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
02/02/2016 21.24  
_There are moments, Demelza Carne, when I wish I could see things the way you do._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
02/02/2016 21.25  
_That would be dull. Differences are important. Got to get some sleep now. Long day tomorrow xx_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
02/02/2016 21.26  
_Sleep well my love xx_

 

* * *

“I told you not to spend money,” said Demelza, folding her arms and looking unimpressed. Ross tried his most charming smile, confident that while Demelza would not be appeased, she would at least accept his gift.

“I know,” he said. “And I didn’t. Much.” Well, perhaps that wasn’t quite true. He supposed it really depended on one’s definition of ‘much’. His views differed to hers; he had lived a life of luxury, while she had clawed her way through poverty. But even if he didn’t have a plentiful allowance, plus his wages, Ross was fairly sure that there would really be no limit to what he was willing – and glad – to give to Demelza. The limits were all hers. He respected it, he did, but that didn’t stop him pushing at boundaries from time to time.

Like now. It was Valentine’s Day, after all, and Ross was in love and not afraid to show it. And if he liked the way she looked when she was trying to be cross, her mouth twisted in a scowl that was as much to prevent a smile as to convey displeasure…well, Demelza didn’t have to know that.

“Much,” Demelza repeated. But her mouth was beginning to smile more than frown, and a delicate blush was spread across her cheeks. “For goodness’ sake, Ross, did you buy out the whole bookshop?”

“Just the law books,” Ross said, putting the heavy pile down on the bar. He’d taken a guess on those – books rather than flowers or chocolates – but it looked as though he’d guessed right. “I checked the list for your course,” he added. “These are all on there. And I made sure you didn’t have any of them already.” So she could keep working ahead, and so she didn’t have to buy them from her own limited budget. He knew she knew his reasoning, but she didn’t comment.

“Which brother?” she asked instead.

“I promised not to tell.”

“Ha. Luke, then. I thought I heard him poking about in my room, the other day.” Demelza had reached for the pile of books, and she was stroking the cover of the topmost one. “Oh, Ross,” she said softly. “This is…you’re too good to me.”

Ross had to kiss her, then. The pub was quiet, halfway between the end of lunch and the beginning of evening food service, and the few customers that were there were involved in their own conversations. That meant Ross had the leisure to kiss Demelza properly. Her arms went around his neck, his around her waist. Perfection. She fitted against him as if she’d been made to measure, just for him. His Demelza. He liked the idea of that. It was becoming so easy to imagine her in the whole of his life.

But of course he hadn’t told her yet. Coward. Not an accusation he usually levelled at himself, but in this he was a coward, because he knew she would see him differently, after she knew. Yet there was no future for them if she didn’t know. And he’d promised to tell her – not that she’d asked, or pushed him in any way for details that he wasn’t ready to share. But he had promised, and he meant to keep that promise. Just…not today.

“Has John had his coursework back yet?” he asked, when Demelza pulled away to glance around the pub with a guilty look. He took a seat at the bar, in his usual place near the end, and Demelza went back behind the bar and started rearranging things.

“He got a B,” she said proudly. “He says you made it all seem straightforward.”

“I’m glad. And how’s your mutt?”

“He is not a mutt, he’s lovely,” protested Demelza. Ross didn’t bother to hide his smile. Demelza huffed and flicked a tea towel at him. “Hush, you,” she said. “I won’t hear a word against him. He keeps me warm at night.”

“I’d do that in a heartbeat,” Ross muttered. He would, too – if he could. If either of them could. An afternoon of fumbling and touching had been more of a tease than satisfaction, and he wanted more than that. Some nights now he lay in his bed wanting her with him, wanting just to hold her close and feel her breath on his skin. Foolish, no doubt. Ridiculously romantic, that was what she’d said in a text the other day. Well, maybe so, but there it was.

Demelza was flushed now. Beautifully flustered. She didn’t even seem to be able to summon up a witty retort. Ross smirked, pleased with himself, and then he dug in his pocket for his wallet.

“Chips?” he suggested. “And a coke. I need the caffeine.” He’d been up all hours last night with one of his men who’d managed to fall off a stepladder and bash his head against a filing cabinet. Perhaps it hadn’t been necessary, but Ross liked to think he took care of the men in his squad, and the lad was only eighteen and tended towards being homesick, so Ross had elected to stay with him in the infirmary until he fell asleep.

“I’ll do you one better and get you a coffee,” Demelza said. “We’ve some in the back for staff – Jim’ll make you a cup, if I ask.”

“You’re an angel,” Ross told her, and Demelza rolled her eyes at him, equilibrium regained.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “You probably say that to all the girls.” She went to the kitchen hatch and spoke persuasively to Jim about the coffee. Then she came back to take Ross’s money, and she hopped up onto her chair and glanced sidelong at the books he had brought her.

“I see how it is,” Ross said, amused. “I’m less interesting than the books, is that it?”

“No!” Demelza protested. “No, don’t be daft. But they’re all shiny and new, and you’re…”

“Old?”

“You said it, soldier boy, not me.”

“Charming,” said Ross, but he grinned at her. “See if I come here again, with that sort of remark,” he teased. Demelza laughed and leaned across the bar to kiss him. Ross met her halfway, and lifted a hand to cup her cheek. He was addicted to kissing her, but there was no harm in this addiction, not like so many others.

Somebody cleared their throat behind him. Ross and Demelza broke apart, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of her wide eyes before he turned to see who had approached them.

It was Halse – tall and upright and smart in his dress uniform. Behind him were Zacky Martin and Dwight, more casual in their fatigues but just as upright, just as solemn.

A cold chill ran down Ross’s spine.

“Sir,” said Halse. “It is my duty to inform you that this afternoon, at twenty-seven minutes past three, your royal father died.”

There was a ringing in Ross’s ears and he was suddenly very glad that he was sitting down. Nobody said anything. Not Halse, not Dwight or Zacky – not Demelza, who was far from stupid and must have heard Halse say ‘royal’.

Ross swallowed. “But,” he said, “he was well. He was healthy. I saw him –,”

“It was sudden,” said Dwight, cutting across him as if nothing had changed, as if Ross’s whole life wasn’t now different. “A heart attack.” There was compassion in the way he looked at Ross but no pity. Ross was glad of that. “It was very sudden,” Dwight said again. “He wouldn’t have suffered.”

“Oh, Ross,” said Demelza, very quietly from her place behind the bar.

“A car is waiting to take your Majesty to the airport,” Halse said. That hit Ross like a punch to the stomach, knocking the air out of him. Your Majesty. His father was dead. That meant he was now – that he was – unthinkable. Unbelievable.

“From there,” Halse went on, “a chartered plane will take you directly to Corville. The prime minister and members of the royal family will be waiting for you at Nampara.”

“Ross,” Demelza said again. Ross swallowed hard, slid off the bar stool and turned to face her. Halse said something else, but Ross didn’t care to listen. He had never seen Demelza looking like this. He had seen her scared and angry and happy, he had seen her crying and laughing, but he had never seen this. She stood utterly still behind the bar, her arms loose at her sides, her lips parted slightly. She was hardly even blinking. Ross stared at her and wished that he had not been a coward about telling her the truth.

“I meant to tell you,” he managed to say at last. “For weeks I’ve meant to tell you.”

“Tell me now.”

“Miss,” said Halse, sounding his most pompous, his most arrogant. Ross could picture the look on his face; he didn’t need to turn around to see it. He kept his gaze fixed on Demelza. “Miss, did you not know that you have had the honour of serving his royal highness the crown prince of Corville?”

Ross could have swung at him, he could have beaten him to a bloody pulp – but Demelza was watching him. Her eyes were wide, her face pale.

“Prince,” she repeated. “And you – your father’s dead, so you’re –,” She took a step backwards, away from him. Ross wanted to reach out for her but he felt frozen. His father was dead. “You – you must have been laughing yourself silly,” Demelza said then, falteringly. “Poor stupid Demelza, scrimping and saving for every penny, naïve enough not to ask a single bloody question about your family.”

“Miss, I must –,”

“Be quiet,” Ross snapped. Over the past months such an interruption of a senior officer would have meant a reprimand, but not now. Not now. “Demelza, please,” he said, “I never laughed – I _swear_ , I’ve been trying to think how to tell you –,”

“Five months,” Demelza said. “It’s been five months and you never once – how hard would it have been, Ross?” The pallor of her face was beginning to be tinged green, as if she was going to be sick. “’Oh, by the way, my father’s a king’. There, see?” She gave a brittle laugh that made him flinch. “Not hard at all.”

“Demelza –,”

“Please don’t talk to me,” she said, sounding heartbroken. “Please just –,” Her breath hitched. He could see tears beginning to form in her eyes. Then she turned and fled into the kitchen. Ross tried to go after her, but Zacky’s hand was on his shoulder, and Mr Henshawe seemed to come from nowhere, stepping in front of the kitchen door to stop Ross following, and behind him Halse was saying something about the car waiting to take him to the airport. Ross was helpless.

And his father was dead.

His father was dead.


	3. Chapter 3

Demelza went to the park down the road from the pub. It was cold, and probably dangerous in the growing dark, but she had to get out of the pub and away, and she couldn’t go home. Not now, not feeling the way she did, not with hot tears burning her eyes.

She sat on a bench and pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her feet on the seat of the bench. She took out her phone and googled the Corville royal family. It was all there. Ross Vennor Poldark, born twenty-eighth of December, only surviving child of King Joshua and Queen Grace. Cousins Francis and Verity Poldark. Prince Francis, Princess Verity. A dead younger brother. Pictures, too. Pictures of Ross, dressed in suits or his dress uniform, Ross looking solemn or rebellious, Ross with his father the king…

Who was now dead. Ross was a king now.

Demelza felt sick. She felt like a fool. She’d known Ross was hiding something, but nothing like this. Nothing big. He had lovely manners and lots of money and she knew he had struggled against family pressure, but not this. She had never even imagined this. But now all those stray comments were beginning to fit into place, all the vague allusions to the family business, to being able to make things better for people. The family business was running a country. His manners – those lovely manners that had charmed her so often – came from a lifetime of being taught how to bow and how to address women and what to wear and what to say.

Somebody joined her on the bench. It was Mr Henshawe, wrapped up in his big overcoat and carrying her own coat. She’d forgotten it in her rush to get out of the pub and away from Ross. She wasn’t cold, not yet, but that was probably shock.

She took the coat and put it on. Her phone beeped. Ross. A message from Ross. Demelza didn’t even look at it. She switched the phone to silent and put it back in her pocket.

“I’m sorry, Demelza,” said Mr Henshawe after a few minutes. Demelza swallowed around a lump in her throat, but couldn’t speak. “I’d no idea,” Mr Henshawe went on. “None at all. I’d have told you if I had.”

“I know,” Demelza managed to whisper. “Thank you.”

“He wanted to come after you, but they wouldn’t let him, even if I’d let him past me,” he said. “They, uh…they bundled him out quick enough. I suppose he’s got to get back to be – to be crowned, or something.”

There was an awkward silence. Demelza began to shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to move, to get up from the bench and go back to the warm pub, or home. She wanted to curl up in her bed, to wrap herself in blankets and cuddle Garrick and cry herself to sleep. She wanted to sit here in the cold until she died. She wanted the last quarter of an hour to be a dream, a nightmare of lies and betrayal. She wanted to wake up in the morning and text Ross and share a laugh with him about her subconscious.

But she couldn’t do any of that.

“He does care for you,” Mr Henshawe said gently. “Any fool can see that. That’s not been a lie, Demelza.”

She laughed bitterly. “Yeah,” she said. “Maybe. But he lied about who he is, so how do I even know who I fell in love with?” He sighed, and Demelza closed her eyes and bit her lower lip hard to keep from crying. “Sorry,” she said. “I – I know you’re trying to be kind, Mr Henshawe, but I don’t think there’s much in me right now that’s not angry.”

“Well, you’ve every right to be angry,” he said. “But I’d rather you did it in the warm. Come along and I’ll get you some hot food and a cup of tea, eh?”

“I can’t,” she said. “I – I’m sorry, but I can’t go back there. Not right now.”

“No, and I’m not asking you to,” Mr Henshawe said. “We’ll go to my house and Anne will look after you for a bit.”

“But she – won’t she mind?”

“Not a bit. She likes doing a bit of mothering, my wife, and you know ours have all flown the nest long since.” Mr Henshawe rose and offered her a hand. Demelza took it, rose unsteadily, and let him tuck her hand through his arm.

Anne Henshawe mothered Demelza for the rest of the afternoon and all evening, until Mr Henshawe brought Luke from the pub to walk her home. Demelza was fed hot soup and given lots of tea, and wrapped in a handmade quilt and sat in a comfortable armchair. The Henshawes’ ancient cat came and sat on her lap, purring loudly. Demelza cried. Anne listened sympathetically and made sure she had plenty of tissues. After that, feeling a little better, Demelza followed Anne into the kitchen and helped prepare an evening meal. Mr Henshawe didn’t come home for it – he was covering Demelza’s absence, but Anne told her firmly not to feel guilty – but Anne and Demelza sat together at the kitchen table and ate chicken pie. Demelza talked about her brothers. Anne talked about her grown-up children.

Demelza’s phone stayed on silent in her pocket. She didn’t check it until much later, after Luke had heard the whole story and then walked her home, after she had changed into pyjamas and brushed her teeth and climbed into bed with Garrick at her feet. Then she checked her messages, because she was angry with Ross, but she was already beginning to understand why he’d struggled to tell her the truth.

“After all,” she said to Garrick, “I’d have treated him completely different. I s’pose it’s why I didn’t tell him about Dad sooner.” Garrick gave her no response, and Demelza rolled her eyes at him and turned to her phone. “Judas God, Ross,” she muttered. “Twenty-seven messages, really?”

The early messages were short. Apologies, mostly – ‘ _I’m so sorry_ ’ several times, and ‘ _please stay safe_ ’. ‘ _I swear on my mother’s grave I was going to tell you_ ’ read message number eight. Then, after a few more in a similar vein: ‘ _I’ve got to get on the plane. Please please text back. At least let me know you’re safe._ ’

Then messages clearly sent after he’d landed in Corville. ‘ _I love you. I never lied about that, Demelza. I wouldn’t. It got harder to tell you the truth as I grew to love you more._ ’ Demelza had to stop looking at messages for a few moments after that, turning the phone away and lifting the duvet over her head. She breathed in and out. Again. Then she faced the remaining messages.

‘ _I wish you were here to help me face this._ ’

‘ _Just let me know you’re safe. Please. I’m having visions of you wandering around town in the dark. Just tell me you’re safe?_ ’

‘ _Please, Demelza. Please. I NEVER meant to hurt you. Just one message, that’s all I’m asking for._ ’

‘ _Would you tell your brothers I’m sorry for going without saying goodbye?_ ’

It was that last message that did it. Demelza checked the time – late. Past one in the morning. Corville was an hour ahead, but the message had only been sent half an hour ago, so it was a fair bet Ross was still awake – probably drinking, probably grieving. His father had just died, after all, and she knew they hadn’t been close, but even so.

It would cost a fortune, no doubt, making an international phone call, but Demelza dithered about that for no more than a few seconds before calling him.

The phone rang and rang, and then switched to the answer machine. Demelza closed her eyes and ended the call. Stupid. Stupid idea anyway, he must be asleep by now, and –

Her phone rang. Ross’s number. Demelza almost hit the wrong button in her haste to answer.

“Ross?” she said. “Did I wake you?”

“ _I’m sorry, this isn’t Ross._ ” A woman’s voice, completely unknown to her. Demelza clutched the phone tight in her hand. “ _Is this Demelza?_ ”

“Yes – who is this, please?”

“ _My name is Verity. I’m Ross’s cousin._ ”

Demelza exhaled shakily. “Is he alright? Should I not have called?”

“ _I’m very glad you did. He and my brother have passed out drunk, so I took the liberty of finding Ross’s phone when it rang. Are you alright, my dear? I gather Ross didn’t ever tell you about…well…_ ”

“About him being a prince?” Demelza held back a bitter laugh. “No, he didn’t.” She hesitated for a moment. “Should I be calling you your highness, or something?” she asked, and was relieved when Verity laughed.

“ _No, my dear, we try to save that sort of thing for formal occasions. Besides, I hope we shall be great friends. You’ve made Ross so happy, you know._ ”

“So happy that he kept lying to me.”

“ _I know you must be angry_.” There was a pause, and then Demelza heard Verity sigh. “ _You’ve every right, of course. But you wouldn’t have called if you didn’t care, despite…well, despite the shock of finding out about the family._ ”

“I…I do care,” Demelza whispered. Then she cleared her throat. “But look, he wanted to know if I’m safe, and I am. And tell him that I’ll pass his apology on to my brothers.”

“ _Of course. Would you like me to give him any other message?_ ”

Demelza thought about it. She thought about what she could possibly say to him now. She loved him. That was an irrefutable fact. And he loved her. But he was now the king of a small country, a country that might only be a few hours away by plane, but might as well be on the other side of the world for all she could afford to get there. He was a _king_ , and she was – well, what was she? A gap year student desperately trying to claw together the money to get through a law degree, while helping to support five under-age, dependant brothers. She was common as muck.

It could never work. Maybe that was why he’d been so afraid of telling her – because he had known, as she did now, that no matter their feelings, the reality was that it was simply not possible to make a relationship work between them.

“No,” she said at last. “No, no other message.”

* * *

“That’s all she said?” Ross demanded, thumbing through his text messages, as if looking at them a third time would somehow create a new message from Demelza.

“Yes, Ross,” said Verity. Her patience was clearly beginning to wear thin. “I’ve told you everything she said. And how she said it. Honestly, Ross, I don’t blame her for not wanting to say anything else. You’ve clearly hurt her a great deal.”

“Unintentionally,” Ross said, dropping the phone onto the desk – his father’s desk, now his. His father had been dead a day, but already things were changing. Ross had inherited the study, and the master suite, and so many other places in Nampara Palace that he had always associated with his father.

Not to mention the crown.

“Yes,” Verity agreed, “but still, you’ve hurt her. Put yourself in her shoes for a moment and _think_ , Ross. Of course she wants some space to think things through. And she’s reached out once, that’s a good sign.”

Ross grunted and reached for the cup of coffee that someone had brought in earlier for him. It was mostly cold now, but drinkable enough. There was a stack of paperwork that he had to go through, and apparently he had a meeting with the prime minister in half an hour. Then the various departmental ministers, and then the bishop wanted to see him about both his father’s funeral arrangements and his own coronation, and Ross just wanted to slump in a comfortable chair until his hangover was gone.

But, though he’d fought against it for his entire adult life and a good deal of his adolescence, he knew his duty. There was no choice, not now.

“I’m going to need more coffee,” he sighed. “I thought I’d have years more before I had to face this.”

“Coffee I can provide,” said Verity, rising and taking his empty mug. “And a sympathetic ear. But I’m afraid short of abdicating, nobody can shoulder this burden for you.” Whatever she saw on his face made her alarmed, eyes wide as she stared down at him. “Ross, you _wouldn’t_ ,” she said, horrified. “Think of Francis as king!”

Ross was forced to laugh. “No, you’re right,” he said. “I wouldn’t, anyway. It’s a nice daydream, but nothing more.”

“Good.”

“Coffee?” Ross pleaded. There came a knock on the study door, and Ross groaned but called out for whoever it was to come in, dreading whatever it might be. But when the door opened it revealed two friendly faces, people that Ross was glad to see. “Francis! And Harris Pascoe, as I live and breathe. You’ve not deserted me, then?”

Harris Pascoe, King Joshua’s aide and old friend to both elder and younger Poldark, stepped into the study with a kindly smile.

“No, sir, I’m still here,” he said. “At least until you choose your own aide. It will keep things running more smoothly to have at least one pair of hands the same.”

“Fine, I’ve chosen,” said Ross. “You. If you can bear to be the aide to the black sheep of the family.”

“I rather think you’ve grown out of that,” Verity murmured, glancing pointedly at Ross’s phone, still sitting on the desk. “Give her a day or two, then call her,” she advised. “I’ll sort out a continual supply of coffee. You know all the maids still, don’t you?”

“Some of them rather too well, I seem to remember,” said Francis, jokingly. Ross didn’t laugh. Perhaps that had been so, but that had been a long, long time ago. Before Elizabeth, then a little after, but now – now there was Demelza. And Ross Poldark had a clear vision of where he wanted Demelza Carne to fit into his life.

“I do,” he answered Verity. “Oh, if you can ask Tabbie to make me some of those biscuits…”

“Mrs Tabb will make you anything you like,” said Verity, with a look that warned him not to take advantage. “But I’ll ask her to send some up. Do you need anything else before I go?”

“No. Thank you, Verity.” He rose and went around the desk to take her hands in his. She smiled up at him. “You’re a wonder,” he told her. “Thank you.” She flushed at the praise, and shook him off with a light-hearted remark. But he thought she looked pleased as she linked her arm through her brother’s and led Francis out of the study. Harris Pascoe shut the door behind them.

“I’m honoured by the offer, sir,” he said, coming to sit in front of the desk, “but I would have thought you’d want to take your time.”

“Time has run out on me,” said Ross. “I need people around me I can trust. I trust you, Harris.” He grinned. “You’ve known me since I was three years old. You’ll tell me if I’m being too…”

“Impetuous?” Harris suggested, smiling a gentle smile. Ross shrugged. It was as good a word as any. “Well, in that case, we should get through these reports as quickly as possible. I can brief you on all the key points, though some of them I’m sure you’ll want to read in depth later.”

“I’m sure.”

“Parliament has already invited you to speak to them, though I imagine that can wait a few days at least.”

“He only died yesterday,” Ross said, fairly exploding into action. He began to pace back and forth behind the desk, to and fro, between one large window and another. “How does this all happen so _quickly_?”

Harris took off his glasses and looked at Ross with sympathy.

“I know,” he said. “And I am sorry for your loss, Ross. But, though we’re far from an absolute monarchy, our system of government requires a level of day-to-day involvement from the head of state – which is you, now.” Ross folded his arms across his chest and stared out of one of the windows. It showed a view of the north gardens, the gardens that he thought Demelza would particularly like.

“I’m sorry,” he said at length. “Don’t think me unwilling, Harris, because I’m not. But yesterday afternoon all I was thinking about was – well. My girlfriend.” Facing away from Harris, he could not see the aide’s expression, and Harris was far too professional to make a sound. Ross smiled a little. He’d surprised Harris. But Harris needed to know, because Ross had every intention of flying back to Cornwall as soon as he could. He needed to see Demelza, to make it right with her.

“I…see,” said Harris eventually. “Your father didn’t know, I take it.”

“No, and she didn’t know about all of this until yesterday, when Halse came to break the news.” Ross turned and retook his seat behind the desk. He checked his phone, though any message would have made a noise. Nothing. Give her time, Verity had suggested. Easier said than done. “I might as well tell you, Harris – I love her. And I want to marry her, at some point.”

Harris closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he put his glasses back on and nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “Though I hardly need to point out that this sounds like you being impetuous.”

“I know. It won’t happen quickly, at any rate. She’s got her own plans.” Ross smiled self-deprecatingly. “And this is all assuming she ever speaks to me again, after I’ve spent the last five months pretending that I don’t belong to one of the royal families of Europe.” Harris raised his eyebrows but made no comment. Ross put the phone to one side and reached for the topmost file on the pile of paperwork. His head throbbed, but this had to be done. “Right,” he said. “What do I need to know about…oh. This is a cheerful one. Illegal immigrants coming across the border.”

One of the maids brought coffee and biscuits, and when the prime minister arrived, they all had tea. Caffeine, Ross decided, would see him through. Caffeine and Mrs Tabb’s biscuits. Meetings and briefings and finances and condolences could be handled, with a plentiful enough supply of caffeine and biscuits.

By the end of the day he was weary and desperate for physical activity. He had grown too used to army life, to the physical training, and now he was full of restless energy.

“Come for a ride,” Francis suggested to him at supper. “There’s enough light in the park, even if you didn’t know all the bridleways like the back of your hand. Elizabeth, Verity? Will you come?”

“No, I’ve too much to do,” said Verity apologetically. “And Elizabeth’s promised to help.”

So Ross and Francis went out alone, collecting their horses from the stables and then setting off, accompanied by a groom at a discreet distance, into Nampara Park. Francis was right – Ross knew all the paths here by heart. There were elegant lampposts set at regular intervals across the park, but even without those Ross would have been able to find his way. He had roamed this park as a boy, escaping from the watchful eyes of the adults around him. Usually with Francis, sometimes with Verity joining them. Sometimes with others, the more distant cousins or the children of nobles or ministers. Sometimes he had come alone. Ross had never lacked for companions, but his own company had often been enough.

“Do you remember when we decided to camp out here?” Francis asked after a while. “We wanted to make a tree house and live in it.”

“Yes,” said Ross. The tree they had chosen was just up ahead, an ancient thing that could easily have supported a tree house. His father had applauded the idea and made sure they had plenty of wood, nails and tools. They had worked on the tree house for weeks, whenever they’d been able to escape into the park. Every spare minute had been spent on it. Then, when it was finally finished, neither Ross nor Francis had been allowed to spend a night in it. Too dangerous. Too risky. What if Ross fell out and broke his neck? Not even with supervision was he allowed to spend a night in his beloved tree house. Bitter memories. There had been so many restrictions.

“It’s still there, you know,” Francis said.

“We’re not children anymore,” said Ross, but he guided his horse down the left hand path when they came to the fork in the bridle path, towards the tree and the abandoned tree house. He wondered if any of the younger cousins played in it now, or if it had been left to rot. It wasn’t easy to see in the dark, but he thought it looked as though it hadn’t entirely fallen apart.

“Ross – look, I know this will sound…well, trite, but if there’s anything I can do…”

Ross turned to look at Francis, a savage retort ready, but Francis was in earnest, and he deserved better than to be a target for Ross’s anger. He swallowed his words, and tried to think of something less bitter to say.

“I know, Francis,” he said at last. “And I’ll thank you for it, by and by. For now I have to find my own way through.”

Francis’s smile was slight, his expression full of wry understanding.

“I know,” he said. “You always did have to work things through on your own first. But I’m here when you need me.”

Ross couldn’t speak, but Francis seemed to need no answer. They rode on through Nampara Park in silence.

* * *

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 21.41  
_I’m trying to make sense of our obligations under EU law around illegal immigrants and I wish you were here to talk me through the legal language._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 21.44  
_I should have done a law degree. Politics and economics feels utterly useless right now._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 21.49  
_I’ve inherited my father’s aide. Harris is a marvel. I don’t know what I’d do without him. But I still wish you were here._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
18/02/2016 22.04  
_I haven’t DONE a law degree yet._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.05  
_No, but you will. You’ll be a great lawyer. (do you forgive me?)_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
18/02/2016 22.08  
_I’m going to try to be a GOOD lawyer. I think I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I wish you had. I wish I hadn’t found out like that._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.10  
_I’m sorry. I should have found a way. I’m sorry I let you down._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
18/02/2016 22.11  
_I’m sorry too._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.12  
_What on earth have you got to apologise for?_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
18/02/2016 22.17  
_For not texting you sooner. How are you doing?_

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.18  
_You don’t need to apologise for anything, Demelza._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
18/02/2016 22.22  
_You’re avoiding the question. It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I know that things are different now. I’d better get to sleep. Goodnight, Ross._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.23  
_Nothing has to be different._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.24  
_I love you. That hasn’t changed._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.26  
_I’m still me. I’m still just me._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.29  
_I can’t lose you too._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
18/02/2016 22.35  
_You haven’t lost me, Ross. But you’re royalty. You’re king of Corville. I’m nothing. It’s impossible._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.36  
_Impossible things are impossible because people decide they’re not possible._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
18/02/2016 22.36  
_Be serious._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.37  
_I am. We could make this work if you wanted to. It’s your decision. It’s always been your decision._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Vennor  
18/02/2016 22.39  
_Give me time to think._

From: Ross Vennor  
To: Demelza Carne  
18/02/2016 22.40  
_As long as you need._

* * *

The days following Ross’s departure passed slowly for Demelza. She worked. She cooked meals for the family. She served drinks in the pub. She cleaned other people’s houses and cleaned her own home. She lay in bed at night and felt Ross’s absence like a deep, aching wound. A week passed, two weeks, three – March came in and swept away the rain of the past few months with a bellowing wind – and Demelza missed Ross more than she felt she should, after knowing him for only half a year.

He sent her messages often. Random observations, complaints about this or that legal text, funny remarks about the people around him. Light-hearted, mostly. Demelza replied to some of them, but not all. She didn’t want to fall back into the flirtatious banter that was so easy between them, not when she still thought she was going to end up hurt in the end.

“I’m sorry you’re so unhappy,” said Robbie, one evening when she was in her room with the door open, reading one of her new law books. He lingered in the doorway, looking at her with a pinched expression, as if her unhappiness was hurting him.

“C’m’ere,” said Demelza, putting her books aside. Robbie came and sat on the bed next to her, and she hugged him close. “I’ll be alright, Robbie,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Drake texted Ross and asked why he doesn’t just come back,” Robbie confessed in a whisper. Demelza closed her eyes and hid her face in Robbie’s hair. “Ross said that he can’t do what he wants, now. He has to do his duty. What does that mean, Demelza?”

“It means he’s a king, Robbie love, and not like our queen,” Demelza sighed. “You know how the queen doesn’t really have power, yeah?” Robbie nodded. “Well, in Corville it’s not like that. The king or queen there still has a lot of say in how things are run. So Ross has a duty to do what’s best for his country, and that means he can’t just hop on a plane and come to Cornwall whenever he wants.”

“Oh,” said Robbie, and was quiet for a while. Demelza felt her heart break a little more. The boys – her four youngest brothers, even Will still young enough to be a boy – had grown so fond of Ross in the time they’d known him. “Well,” said Robbie at last, “I’m sorry you’re so unhappy, anyway.”

They had all noticed how unhappy she was, all six of her brothers. Perhaps her father too, though he would never lift a finger to see to Demelza’s comfort or happiness. Her brothers, though – they were kind to her, and more than once she found that one or other of them had cleaned the house, or cooked a meal, or made her a cup of tea. Small things. Small acts of kindness.

Late March brought her birthday. Her twentieth birthday fell on a Saturday this year, so Demelza spent most of it at the pub. Jinny and Jim surprised her with a cake, big enough to take home and share with her brothers, and Mr Henshawe gave her a parcel from his wife that turned out to be a box of chocolates. Nothing from Ross. Not that she expected anything. He had a lot on his plate, a lot of responsibility now, and she knew him well enough to know he would be flinging himself headlong into it, for all he’d never wanted it. The coronation wasn’t for another month – after Easter – but that was just a formality, she knew. He was doing all the work already.

A week later, Verity Poldark walked into the pub.

Demelza knew her at once. She had spent far too many hours looking at pictures, articles and interviews relating to the Poldark family, and Verity was distinctive. Today she wore a dove grey dress and jacket, hair tied away from her face, and a kindly smile. She looked more like a businesswoman than a princess, though Demelza had seen pictures of her in cocktail dresses and ball gowns. Demelza smoothed her hair down, self-conscious, and stepped out from behind the bar.

“Demelza,” said Verity in greeting, coming towards her with outstretched hands. She clasped Demelza’s hands in hers and looked up at her with warmth. “How wonderful to meet you at last.”

“At last? Your highness?”

“Ross talks of little else,” Verity said. “And please, it must be Verity. I’m so sorry to interrupt you at work, my dear, but I need to speak with you.”

“Is Ross alright?” Demelza demanded at once, alarmed. Her hand went to her pocket; her phone was there, on silent. She would have felt it vibrate if a message had been received. But if Ross had been hurt, or if anything had happened to him, nobody would have thought to let her know. Common sense caught up with her a moment later. Verity wouldn’t have come just to give her news of Ross.

“He’s fine,” said Verity soothingly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. But please, may we speak privately?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Demelza said. “Sorry, let me – let me ask my boss if we can use his office.”

Mr Henshawe had no objections, particularly when he realised precisely who Verity was, and he even went so far as to offer to make tea for them both. Verity declined, but graciously, and accepted a seat in front of Mr Henshawe’s desk. Demelza bit her lip and joined Verity, wishing she didn’t feel so awkward. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. Her legs felt too long. Perhaps it would have been like this with Ross, if she’d known all along that he was royalty. Awkward. It might never have become comfortable the way it had, if she’d known.

“There,” said Verity, when Mr Henshawe left and closed the door behind him. “Now we can talk properly. I’m sorry to surprise you like this, Demelza, but I’m afraid I’m here doing something tremendously impulsive. My brother would say I’m being too like Ross.”

“O-kay,” said Demelza slowly. “What…exactly are you doing? I mean – I’m glad to meet you, of course, but I’m a bit confused.”

“The truth is, Ross is miserable,” Verity said. “And I do understand that you need time to decide whether you’re really ready to be dating a prince – a king, I mean – but honestly, my dear, he’s becoming quite unbearable.”

Demelza gave a startled laugh, and then covered her mouth with a hand. Ross unbearable was something she could imagine all too easily. She’d seen him in bad moods, sulky from an encounter with his commanding officer, bitter because of a communication from his father – fiercely angry about the things her own father did. She had usually been able to tease him out of those moods, but she could see how he could easily become unbearable to live with.

“He sounds fine when he texts,” she offered. Verity looked as though she wanted to roll her eyes.

“Yes, he would,” she said. “He’s absolutely determined to make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid enough to drive you away.” Demelza opened her mouth to speak, but Verity held up a hand. “He _was_ stupid not to tell you,” she said gently. “But my cousin doesn’t always let his head rule him. He truly loves you, Demelza.”

Demelza flushed and tried to steer the conversation away from the subject of feelings.

“But what are you doing that’s so impulsive?” she asked. “You don’t just mean coming here to see me, do you?”

“No,” Verity agreed. “I’m here to see if – well, to see if you’d come back with me to Corville. Just for a few days,” she added in a rush, when Demelza’s mouth dropped open. “There’s simply no way he can come back to Cornwall right now – or anywhere else, for that matter. There’s simply too much to do, and he’s not his own person, not anymore. But he misses you terribly, Demelza. Will you come? Just for a few short days, just to – to make up with him?”

Demelza rose and paced away from Verity, towards the small window that looked out onto the back yard. The sun was shining. It would be April in a few days – Easter holidays soon, two weeks of Drake, Robbie, John and Will at home all day with nothing to do. Well, Will had revision, for GCSEs in the summer term. She would try to get the other three out of the house as much as possible – they could spend their time roaming the beaches, and even further afield if they wanted. They would be safe enough. Especially if they took Garrick.

She couldn’t leave them. Luke and Sam would look after them, but she couldn’t just up and leave and fly to another country, even if she had the money for it. Exeter was one thing; Corville was another.

“It’s not that simple,” she said at last, turning back to Verity. “There’s my brothers, and my jobs, and that’s before I even start thinking about plane fares.”

“Please don’t think about plane fares,” Verity said. She looked very determined. It made her look like Ross somehow, though they shared few features. “This would be at my expense.”

“I couldn’t possibly –,”

“Believe me, I would do far more to ensure his happiness,” Verity interrupted her. “Ross is – he is very dear to me. This is nothing. This is – it’s nothing, Demelza. Please don’t let it factor into your decision.”

Demelza ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes for a moment. The thought of seeing Ross again was nearly irresistible. To see him, to hold him, to kiss him – to yell at him properly for not telling her the truth – she could feel her will weakening.

“But work,” she said, summoning up her protests again. “It’s not just here at the pub, I have – I have cleaning jobs, and there’s a toddler I look after – and –,” She faltered. Verity sat patiently waiting for her to continue. Demelza took a breath and released it. She wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – tell Verity how tight money was, how important her wages were to the household budget. She’d known Ross came from money, even before she knew the rest of it. She doubted Verity had ever known poverty.

But a few days…could a few days hurt so much? She could always dip into her university savings a little to cover the shortfall. And if it meant seeing Ross…Ross, who she’d missed _so much_ , like there’d been something torn away from her. She could survive without whatever had been taken, she could survive anything – but she didn’t really want to live without it. Without him.

She took another deep breath, and sat back down.

“Three days,” she said. “That’s all. Three days and I’d have to be back home in time to cook supper on Tuesday.”

“That can be arranged.”

“And I can’t go straight away now – I don’t think Mr Henshawe will mind me leaving early, and missing tomorrow, but I’ve got to go home to get some clothes and things, and my passport – and tell the boys.”

“Of course,” Verity nodded. She was smiling, her eyes wide and happy.

“This is insane,” Demelza said.

“I know,” said Verity, her smile widening. “It’s remarkably fun, isn’t it? I think I’m beginning to understand why Ross does things like this.” Demelza laughed and shook her head, but she couldn’t deny it. Insane it might be, but the idea of surprising Ross was so much fun that she didn’t even want to argue with Verity about what it was all going to cost.

“Let me talk to Mr Henshawe,” she said. “Then I’ll get my things.”

* * *

Ross wondered how hard it would be to claim a sudden illness and escape. Harris had insisted that he attend this meeting in the cathedral with the archbishop, the prime minister, and Elizabeth. He had insisted that decisions had to be made about the coronation and Ross must be involved in making them. Ross had tried to argue, but Elizabeth had given him a _look_ , part plea and part steely determination, and Ross had given in. The coronation would come and go soon enough, and then he could stop thinking about the ridiculous grandeur of it all and get down to some proper work. If he had to be king – and he had no intention of shirking the duty, not really – then so be it. But this gaudiness, this show, was the kind of thing that he had always rebelled against. Just yesterday he had visited an immigration centre, over the objections of the home secretary. The state of it had disgusted him. He could make changes – or set changes in motion – and he was determined to do it. To be stuck here now, listening to discussions about seating plans and the order of hymns and where the television cameras would be set up, made him feel physically sick.

Ross had heard more than enough about it all. A sudden illness – perhaps something he’d eaten at lunch that had disagreed with him – was looking more and more tempting. Then he could get back to work. Harris was waiting for him, working on a draft proposal to the home office about improving conditions and speeding up asylum applications. Work to be done. This was a waste of time. A waste of money, too. The thought of what could be done with this money –

Elizabeth stepped on his foot when the prime minister and archbishop wandered away from them for a moment to double check something.

“Behave,” she hissed to him. “This is the most important day of your life.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my wedding?” Ross returned, stifling a yawn. Elizabeth pursed her lips. He could imagine all the things she was thinking, and her disapproval rankled. He straightened and took a breath. “Fine,” he said. “But you don’t need me here, Elizabeth. You’re doing a fine job. All I need to know is where to stand on the day.”

“And your oath, and where to walk, and –,”

“And I’m sure it will all go smoothly,” Ross said quickly. “You’re very good at this sort of thing, Elizabeth. Much better than me.” It was one of the things that might have made them a good couple – he the rebellious democrat, she the aristocrat well versed in all the right etiquette. But it hadn’t come to pass, and Ross didn’t regret it now. He regretted other things, but not that.

Elizabeth sighed. The prime minister and archbishop had turned and were slowly making their way back down the aisle towards them.

“Just…try,” she said. “Please, Ross. For me.” Emotional blackmail. Ross bit down his irritation and inclined his head in agreement. “Oh,” said Elizabeth then, sounding relieved. “Here’s Verity. Perhaps she’ll do better with you.”

Ross turned to greet his cousin, hoping that perhaps she had come for some reason he could use as an excuse to flee. He hadn’t seen Verity at all today – she did a lot of charity work and was rarely around on weekend afternoons, when there always seemed to be some fundraising event that she simply had to take part in – and her arrival at the cathedral was a pleasant surprise.

Verity was not alone. At her side, looking pale and nervous, was Demelza Carne. Ross stared, for a moment wondering if he had somehow fallen asleep and was dreaming her into existence. But no, she was real, her hair a mussed halo around her head, her jeans faded and worn, her hands clasped together and her eyes wide. She was real. She was here.

Heedless of those around him, Ross swooped down upon her and caught her up in his arms.

“Demelza,” he whispered. “You’re _here_ – how in God’s name are you _here_?” She smelled the same as always. Lavender, from her shampoo or shower gel or something. He buried his face against her hair and neck and inhaled deeply. She felt thinner in his arms, but she smelled the same.

“Verity,” said Demelza, and she was hugging him just as tightly as he was hugging her. “She came – she came and got me, she said you missed me, and I –,”

“I do, I miss you, I’ve wanted you here, Demelza, I would –,”

“ – and I missed you, so I –,”

“ – I would keep you with me for the rest of my life if you’d let me –,”

Verity cleared her throat. “Ahem,” she said. “You’ve an audience, cousin.” She sounded amused. Schemer, Ross thought, and wondered how long she had been hatching this plan. So unlike her. His uncle would be furious with her, no doubt, for doing something so impulsive. Ross loved her for it.

But she was right – there were other people here, and Demelza would get embarrassed, unused to being the centre of attention. Ross reluctantly let her go, just far enough to look at her properly. She was flushed now, her pallor gone.

“Demelza,” he said again. “I’ve missed you.”

“So I hear,” said Demelza, smiling at him. It was a little forced, but there was a hint of a tease in it, too. She glanced over his shoulder and her flush deepened. “Everyone’s watching,” she murmured.

“That happens a lot,” Ross said, apologetic. “You get used to it.” Demelza looked as though she wanted to say something, but Ross ducked his head and brushed his mouth against hers. “I’ll introduce you,” he said, and slid an arm around his waist as he turned back towards their audience. “Demelza, this is Archbishop Odgers –,” Demelza nodded and smiled – “and Prime Minister Bassett. And this is Elizabeth, my cousin’s wife.” He was watching Demelza when he said that, and caught the flicker of uncertainty that showed in her expression before she hid it away. He would try to reassure her later. “Elizabeth, gentlemen, this is my – may I introduce Demelza Carne? We met when I was in Cornwall.”

He knew Elizabeth’s expression, the careful smile that hid her true feelings. Undetectable to anyone who didn’t know her well. Ross’s hand tightened on Demelza’s waist.

“How lovely to meet you at last,” Elizabeth said. “What a surprise.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I acted quite unlike myself,” said Verity, saving Ross from replying. “I’ve been longing to meet Demelza, and I simply couldn’t resist persuading her to visit us here.”

“Always a pleasure to meet a friend of his Majesty’s,” said Bassett, bowing his head to Demelza. “Eh, Odgers?” Odgers murmured his agreement. “Perhaps we might conclude this meeting another time,” Bassett went on, a humorous glint in his eyes. “I’m sure you must be eager to show your…friend…the beauties of Nampara.”

“Of course,” said Elizabeth. “We had nearly finished anyway, hadn’t we? Please, Ross – do enjoy your time with Demelza.” They were looking at each other, Elizabeth and Demelza, measuring each other up. Ross hoped that this initial tension would dissipate once they grew to know one another. If Demelza stayed in his life – and surely she would, surely her coming here like this meant she had decided to give it a try – then she and Elizabeth would have to learn to get along.

Demelza leaned against him, just a little, as if she needed his support in the face of these strangers. Ross wanted to wrap her up in his arms again, and kiss her until she was breathless. Soon. Not here. He had _some_ sense of propriety, and it wouldn’t do to embarrass Demelza.

“I’ll go ahead and make sure Demelza’s things are taken to her room,” Verity said. “That is, supposing your car is here, Ross, to bring you both?”

In a few short minutes, Ross and Demelza were ensconced in the back of his car. The driver was something else that Ross had inherited – Jud Paynter had been his father’s driver for years – and Jud had looked from Ross to Demelza and back again and then begun muttering something under his breath, too low to be heard clearly but loud enough to make the point that he wasn’t happy.

“Ignore him,” Ross murmured to Demelza. “It’s just the way he is.”

“Alright,” Demelza agreed. She was fiddling with her hair, pushing it behind her ears then letting it fall loose again. Nervous. She was staring out of the window with wide eyes. Ross watched her, drinking her in. She glanced at him once or twice, but always looked away. Ross reached out and took her hand, pleased when she tangled her fingers with his. She smiled, but still she looked out of the window as they passed through the city.

“Nampara is on the outskirts of the city,” Ross said after a while. “In Nampara Park.”

“And Nampara is…”

“Where I grew up,” Ross said, skirting the obvious. “Well, mostly in Nampara. There’s a couple of houses in the country, but Nampara has always been the main residence.” Demelza gave him a look, one eyebrow raised and lips pursed. Ross lifted their joined hands and kissed her thumb. “I know you’ve looked it up,” he said. “You just want me to say it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Demelza, still looking at him with that look, determined and scared all at once. “Yes, I want you to say it.”

“It’s Nampara Palace.”

“Oh, Ross,” said Demelza, very quietly. “Oh, Ross, I do wish you’d told me.”

“Would you have treated me the same?” Ross had to ask. Demelza made a face and didn’t answer – which was, in itself, answer enough. He nodded and looked away from her for a moment. “So,” he said. “I didn’t tell you. It’s done. And here we are.”

“Here we are,” she repeated.

“ _How_ are you here?” he asked. “What on earth did Verity say to get you here?”

“She said you were miserable and being unbearable,” said Demelza, her smile familiar now, amused and teasing and her eyes twinkling. God, but he loved her. “So she came and asked me to come, and I – I agreed.” She laughed, and Ross grinned at her, so pleased that she was here and that she was happy. “Mr Henshawe let me off work this weekend – I’ll have to call in sick, Monday and Tuesday, but –,”

“You’re staying until Tuesday?” Ross interrupted, too eager to let her finish.

“That’s the deal, soldier boy,” she said with a decisive nod. “Back to cook supper on Tuesday. I’m yours until then.”

“Are you?” he asked. “Mine?” His heart was thumping in his chest. Demelza was nervous again now, her eyebrows drawn together and her mouth twisting into a frown. Ross waited. He had waited for weeks already, he could wait while she answered him now. He knew what he wanted, but she had to want it too.

“I’d like to be,” she said at last. “I do – I do love you, Ross.” This with an embarrassed glance to the front of the car. Jud had subsided into silence, but he could, of course, hear every word they spoke. Ross trusted his silence, more or less. “But this is a completely different world for me,” Demelza went on. “So maybe…maybe let’s see how this weekend goes, and then we’ll see. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Ross. He couldn’t blame her for being cautious – she was right, Nampara and his life here was a world away from her life in Cornwall – but she was here. She had come. That was a step in the right direction.

* * *

“This is insane,” Demelza whispered to herself. “What the hell are you doing here, Demelza Carne?”

If she had struggled to understand the reality of who Ross was, arriving at Nampara Palace had put an end to those struggles. There were _servants_ , servants who _bowed_ , who called him ‘your Majesty’ and ‘sire’, and who called her ‘Miss Carne’ – Judas _God_ , ‘Miss Carne’, like she was someone important. Then there was the building itself – huge and ornate, the décor exquisitely tasteful, the ceilings high, the staircases wide, the carpets soft and plush underfoot. The windows were large, the whole place airy and light. It couldn’t all be like that, she knew, but that was Demelza’s overwhelming impression when Verity had taken her through the palace to a guest suite overlooking Nampara Park. There Verity had left her to settle in, telling her to ring the bell if she needed anything and that Ross would come for her in half an hour or so, after he had met with his aide.

Somebody had unpacked her ancient, battered suitcase and put her things neatly and carefully away in drawers. Her pyjamas were under the pillow of the bed. The law book and paperback she’d brought were on the bedside table. Demelza sat carefully in a chair by the window, almost afraid to touch anything lest she should ruin it. She didn’t belong here. She shouldn’t have come.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked her messages. Three from Will, one from Drake, one from Sam. Things they wanted her to tell Ross, mostly. Wanting to know if she’d landed safely. Demelza sent the same message to each brother. ‘ _Got here safely. Seen Ross. Will call later._ ’

Ring if she needed anything, Verity had said. What Demelza needed was Ross, but she knew he’d had to keep the meeting with his aide. She’d come so unexpectedly. Ross couldn’t spend all his time with her, he had duties to perform. But now, alone in this suite, Demelza needed him. It was too big, too grand. She was out of place. Stupid to think she could ever even begin to fit into this world. She hadn’t even been here an hour and she was already feeling like –

But there was Ross. She would do a lot for him. She had told him the truth about her father, something she had never openly admitted to _anyone_ before. So Demelza had to give him a chance, give _them_ a chance.

Even if she felt sick with nerves.

As if in answer to her thoughts, the door to her suite creaked open just wide enough to allow Ross to slip through. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, looking at Demelza from across the room.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello, soldier boy,” said Demelza, her nerves beginning to fade away at the sight of him. His mouth curled into a pleased smile and he pushed away from the door, crossing the room to her in a few long strides. Demelza began to get up, but Ross put his hands on her shoulders and kept her seated, then knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. Demelza raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m fairly sure it’s meant to be the other way around,” she pointed out. “ _Your Majesty._ ”

Ross made a grimace of disgust.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” he said, not quite an order but more than a plea.

“Pretty sure I might have to, sometimes,” Demelza said, teasing him a little. “If you really want me to stick around.”

“I do,” said Ross, not teasing her back. Serious now, his eyes fixed on her in a way that made her breath catch in her throat. Then he grinned, wide and happy in the way she loved. “Besides, if I have my way, eventually people will call you that, too.”

“Ross!” Demelza tugged her hands from his and covered her flaming cheeks. “What a thing to say!” She could think of half a dozen reasons why that would never happen, why King Ross of Corville could never marry Demelza Carne. She was common, she was dirt poor, she was scarred from her father, she had six younger brothers to care for – oh, there were so many reasons, and life wasn’t a fairytale. She was no Cinderella.

“Well, I know it’s too soon,” said Ross, shrugging a little. “But I thought perhaps it would help you deal with everything here – to know that I want this, us, to be permanent.”

It did help. It shouldn’t have done – they’d dated for only five months, hardly any time at all – but it did help. There would only be any point to any of this if Ross was in it for the long haul. Demelza tried, just for a moment, to imagine herself beside Ross as he was now. Not just a soldier, but the ruler of a small country with heavy responsibilities weighing him down. But she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see herself looking like Elizabeth, poised and coiffed and elegance itself. Not even like Verity, who was not as beautiful as Elizabeth but who still knew all the rules of this life, who still knew how to dress and move and speak.

“And – and Elizabeth?” she asked, hating herself for feeling the need to ask. Ross looked confused, and Demelza forced herself to carry on. “She’s the kind of woman you need,” she said. “I’m never going to be like her, Ross. I don’t know how.”

“You’ll learn what you need to,” said Ross. He sounded as though he had complete faith in her. Demelza knew her own strengths, and knew that he was right in some ways – she could learn the rules, both written and unwritten. She could learn how to curtsey and which fork to use and how to address all the grand people she would be likely to meet. But she would never be anything but herself, and she was – she was _coarse_ , next to Elizabeth. She hadn’t realised just how inferior she would feel, compared to someone like Elizabeth.

“Demelza,” Ross said gently. “I’m in love with _you_. Not anyone else. You. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and if you didn’t think I needed you, you wouldn’t have come.” Demelza nodded, conceding the point. He was right. If she’d truly thought he didn’t love her, that she was just a passing fancy for him, she would have ignored Verity and stayed at home. Instead she had come. And this was mostly her nerves talking, after all. She had already decided, really. Deep down, in a tiny corner of her heart where she was afraid to look for long, she had already made her decision.

“You’re a charmer, soldier boy,” she murmured. Ross smiled but didn’t deny it. Demelza had to lean forwards, to kiss that smile. Their first kiss in six weeks. They didn’t talk for a while, then. Somehow Demelza ended up on the floor with him, Ross cross-legged and she cradled in his lap. His hand tangled in her hair, keeping her close. Demelza had missed this, missed kissing him. This hadn’t changed, even if everything else had. He still kissed the same way. Her soldier boy.

“I got you a birthday present,” Ross said eventually. “But I didn’t want to send it to you until – I didn’t want it to look as though I was trying to…”

“Buy me?” Demelza suggested, grinning widely at him. Ross grumbled something and nipped at her lower lip. That distracted her for a moment, but then she resolutely leaned away. “So what did you get me, soldier boy? You’ve not done something ridiculous, have you?”

“Possibly.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Demelza said fondly, stroking a finger down his jaw. Ross began to speak but Demelza stopped him, putting her hand over his mouth. “No,” she said. “Behave, you.” His eyes twinkled, his amusement obvious. He was still Ross. Still the same Ross, her Ross. “What did you get me?” she asked.

“It’s in the wardrobe,” he said, and tilted her out of his lap. Demelza lifted an eyebrow at him, but scrambled to her feet and went to the wardrobe. She hadn’t bothered to look inside earlier – no point, when none of her clothes needed to be hung up – so it was a surprise when she opened the door now to find a dress, smarter than anything she owned. Smart and pretty and probably exactly her size. Shoes too, at the bottom of the wardrobe. Yellow, to match the dress. Fashionable. Armour, she thought. It was armour to clad herself in, to make her brave enough to face Ross’s family and his circumstances.

He came behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Tonight’s supper is informal,” he said quietly. “Just family. Half the time we all show up in jeans.” Demelza nodded, still looking at the dress. “Tomorrow I have to make an appearance at church – Poldarks have always gone on Sundays, and I can’t break the tradition, not now…I’d like you to be with me.”

“Yes, Ross.”

“I thought the dress – it’s suitable for church, and it might make you – what’s the saying, clothes make the man?”

“ _Yes_ , Ross.” Demelza wriggled around in his arms, her heart beating so loudly that she wondered that he couldn’t hear it. Her mouth was dry, but she wasn’t afraid. Not really. “Yes,” she said again.

“Yes…what?” Ross asked, brows drawn together in confusion.

“Yes, it’s too early,” Demelza said, breathless with no reason to be. “It’s insane, I mean this is properly crazy – and there’s no way it’d happen soon, I’m doing my law degree, soldier boy, even if I never actually –,”

“Demelza, what are you –,”

“ – actually get to practice law, but the answer is yes.”

“What…” Ross looked lost, so totally confused. It made Demelza laugh, and she pressed a kiss to his mouth, his cheeks, his nose.

“You’ve not asked me yet,” she said, with a false note of primness in her voice. “But my answer’s yes.”

Awareness dawned, creeping across his face, his eyes going wide and his mouth falling open. Idiot. Her idiot. Her handsome soldier boy.

“You – you’re saying yes,” he said. Demelza nodded. “Demelza – really? Even with all this?” She nodded again. “What – what made you decide?” he asked, sounding dazed.

“You bought me armour,” said Demelza, glancing over her shoulder at the dress hanging in the wardrobe. “You bought me armour, Ross.” She grinned at his confusion. “And,” she went on, “apparently you’ve been answering John’s texts about his maths problems. Even though you weren’t sure of me, you were still helping him.”

“He’s a good kid,” defended Ross. “He just needed a bit of help, I didn’t mind.”

“I love you,” Demelza said. “Ross Vennor Poldark.” Ross closed his eyes and leaned forward so their foreheads were resting together. “I love you,” she whispered. “So when you get round to asking properly, my answer’s going to be yes. Alright, soldier boy?”

His answer didn’t include words, but Demelza understood him well enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go :)


	4. Epilogue

All six of her brothers were there for Demelza’s graduation, and when she received her diploma, they cheered as loudly as only six young men could cheer.

Ross, allowed to attend the ceremony only because he had a security guard with him at all times, hid his pride away and clapped for Demelza no more or less than he clapped for everyone else. Diplomacy and fairness was easy enough in abstract, but in practice it was not always what Ross wanted. Today he wanted to join his soon-to-be brothers-in-law and rise to his feet, clapping and cheering with all his might. But three years of ruling had taught him a little more circumspection. 

Besides, he knew Demelza would be embarrassed if he did that. There was some media presence here today, drawn by Ross’s attendance and by the fact that within this cohort of graduates was a young woman who would very shortly be married to a king. It wouldn’t do to make her into a spectacle.

Garrick was already installed in Nampara Palace. The younger Carne boys – Drake, Robbie and John, though none of them really so young that they could be called ‘boys’ now – had objected a little at the separation from their pet, but Garrick had always been Demelza’s really, and Ross had assuaged their unhappiness with the promise of bringing them out to Corville every holiday. Demelza hadn’t complained about the cost of it, the extravagance; he suspected she was too pleased at the idea of seeing her brothers regularly. They were a close-knit family, the Carne children. All six brothers had come to embrace Ross as their own, and it wasn’t simply for Demelza’s sake that he intended to keep his promise about their holidays.

They would separate now, he and Demelza, for two more weeks. Demelza had things to tie up here in England, and he couldn’t stay. Parliament was still in session for another week, and then there was always at least another week’s worth of paperwork waiting for him to look over. Verity would be going with Demelza – she’d joked that Ross just wanted her to make sure Demelza didn’t change her mind at the last minute – but the most Ross would have was a few hours today after the ceremony was over, and those hours would be shared with her brothers. He’d only flown in for the day.

Still, after that she would be his. Their time might not be entirely their own, but she would be his wife. They would share their lives, share the same spaces, share a bed without having to dodge disapproving looks. The engagement ring on her finger would be joined by a wedding band.

“Sir, if you’d like to come with me now, we’ve reserved a room for you and Miss Carne’s family. It will be easier to go now, before the crush starts.” It was the faculty member who had been assigned as his liaison for the day, and Ross nodded before leaning to his left and letting Luke know.

“We’ll stay here until the end,” Luke said quietly. “Give you and Demelza some time alone. Don’t worry,” he added, when Ross gave him a sceptical look, “we’ll meet you there later. Someone can show us.”

“Alright,” Ross agreed. “Just don’t let anyone wander off.” An unnecessary admonition, but it was practice by now. Ross had got used to being an older brother. He didn’t bother to wait for a response, knowing what Luke was likely to say, but stood up, buttoned his jacket, and followed the faculty member out of the hall and down a long corridor. His security, Zacky Martin, followed closely – a security ‘escort’, everyone else called him. Ross called him what he was: a guard. Both to keep Ross safe and to stop him getting himself into trouble. Three years had changed Ross, but not that much.

“Just in here, sir,” said the liaison, opening a door to what appeared to be some sort of study. “Someone will bring Miss Carne shortly. Can I fetch you anything to drink? Tea?”

“No, thank you,” said Ross. Then he changed his mind. “Miss Carne would probably appreciate tea,” he said, offering a smile to the liaison. Demelza’s mouth went dry when she was nervous, as she was today, and she swore by tea as the answer for everything. So very British. The liaison went to procure tea. Ross and Zacky had a brief but amicable argument about whether Zacky needed to stay in the room or wait outside. Ross won, but only – he suspected – because Zacky didn’t want to intrude on Ross’s precious time with Demelza.

Tea was delivered barely a minute before Demelza arrived, flushed and happy, cap in hand and gown billowing around her.

“Where’s the boys?” she asked him, and Ross rolled his eyes at her.

“ _Where’s the boys_ ,” he mocked. “Just graduated, not seen me in weeks, and she asks where the boys are.” Demelza laughed, free and easy, discarded her cap on a chair, and came into his open arms.

“Hello, soldier boy,” she said. Ross kissed her, then grasped her by the waist and spun her around. Demelza squealed and poked his shoulder, but she was laughing still, and she kissed him again when he stopped spinning her. Her arms went around his neck. He held her close, feeling the shape of her beneath her academic gown. Two weeks. Just two weeks more. 

“Congratulations,” he murmured, when they stopped kissing at last. “How does it feel?”

“Oh, Ross, I still can’t believe they let reporters in,” said Demelza, making a face. “I was that nervous already, it made me feel like I was going to trip over my own feet.”

“Which you’ve never yet done,” Ross was obliged to point out. “You know it’s going to be worse at the wedding.”

“There’s knowing and knowing,” Demelza said, but she was smiling again. “Are you proud of me, Ross?”

“Do you need me to be?”

“No, but it’s nice to hear it.”

“Of course I’m proud of you.” He kissed her again. Her lipstick was becoming thoroughly smudged. At least her dress was hidden beneath her gown – he couldn’t possibly do any damage to _that_ , not today at least. Her hair, on the other hand…he slid a hand through the silky strands, cupping the back of her head to keep her close.

“Ross,” she whispered against his mouth, “if you mess up my hair Verity is going to kill you.”

“She wouldn’t do that, that would mean Francis on the throne.” But Ross obeyed, dropping his hand back to her waist. 

“Don’t be mean about Francis,” Demelza said, pulling her face away from his when he tried to kiss her again. “You don’t mean it, anyway. Oh, tea!” She wriggled out of his arms and darted across the room to take a cup. “So where _are_ the boys?” she asked, after taking a long sip. Ross joined her and took his own cup of tea, though he didn’t have her love for it.

“Luke said they’d stay until the end of the ceremony, then join us here,” he said. “To give us some time.” Demelza smiled fondly, and Ross hid his own smile behind his cup. “I think he just wanted to spare you Drake’s over-exaggerated disgust,” he added. Drake was fourteen now, and according to him, nobody wanted to see ‘old people’ kissing. Demelza being twenty-three, and Ross twenty-eight, in Drake’s mind they quite clearly belonged to the ‘old people’ category. He would grow out of it. 

“Probably,” Demelza said, smirking at him over the rim of her cup. She looked so happy, so very happy. She glowed with it. Her hair had grown so long and fell about her shoulders in soft curls. Her engagement ring glinted at him from her finger. There was an ease to all her movements that spoke of her three years away from her home. Tom Carne had not come to his only daughter’s graduation. Demelza hadn’t told Ross whether she’d invited her father or not, but he suspected not. There was no love between them, and Tom Carne had long since forfeited his right to be present at the important events of his daughter’s life. He had been invited to the wedding, but only because his absence would cause Demelza to be exposed to speculation. Luke would be giving her away; Tom Carne would sit in the family pews with his younger sons. Ross could only be glad that the idea of his daughter marrying royalty was enough to keep Tom Carne behaving decently, in public at least. 

“Ross,” Demelza said gently. “Thinking dark thoughts?”

“No,” Ross denied. “No, just…thinking.”

“Tell me.”

“Oh, nothing much,” Ross said, finishing his tea. “I suppose I was just wondering how I managed to trick you into marrying me.” He wouldn’t share his thoughts on her father with her; she knew his feelings, and today was a day for happiness.

Demelza grinned, her eyes twinkling. “You’ve not caught me yet, soldier boy,” she teased. “There’s still two weeks.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And then you’re mine forever.” Demelza laughed and shook her head, glancing down at the ring on her finger. She seemed perpetually surprised to see it there. “Demelza,” he said, putting his cup down and reaching to take hers. Demelza relinquished her cup with a twist of her lip to signal her disapproval, but still she let him take it, and let him hold her again. “Demelza,” he repeated. “Are you happy, my love?”

“Yes, Ross,” Demelza said. “You know I am. And you’re happy too?” Ross lifted an eyebrow but didn’t bother to reply otherwise. Demelza laughed softly and tilted her face up expectantly. Ross kissed her, ever obedient to her wishes.

“Oh, ewww,” said Drake from the door. “Give over, Demelza. We’re going to see enough of that at the wedding!”

“Don’t look, then!” was Demelza’s tart response, and she kissed Ross again. Then she was swarmed, tugged from Ross’s arm and passed from one brother to another as they all hugged her and fought to be heard over each other. Ross stepped aside, admitting defeat. They wouldn’t often all be together again, the Carne siblings, and he would have Demelza for the rest of his life.

But then he, too, was pulled into the morass, Drake and Robbie grabbing an arm each and hauling him in. He ended up with Demelza on one side and Will on the other, and was rather surprised to discover how contented he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for reading :) I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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